


Temporal

by RaeLogan



Series: The White Noise Multiverse..? [3]
Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Developing Friendships, Dolls, Ducks, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Head Injury, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Memory Loss, Neurodiversity, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Recovery, Rehabilitation, Therapy, neurodivergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-10-15 00:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 74,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17518367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeLogan/pseuds/RaeLogan
Summary: (AU to the ending of "White Noise" and the Darkwing comics) Its been four months since QuackerJack had snapped while under stress at QuackWerks, since he launched an attack against the conglomerate, and attempted to lure Darkwing Duck back to St. Canard for a "playtime" just like old times. A smashed window and a freefall, the dust settles as a startling new reality meets Jacky.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to start out with the fact that this idea sparked because of that "Who-Bob What-Pants?" episode of Spongebob. This story has very little to do with it.
> 
> The main idea was the alter the trajectory of the fall that QuackerJack had in "Toy With Me", and give him a reason to not be able to go through with the ending of that comic story. By doing that one change, we've opened an entire timeline of possibilities that are not restrained by that key event. Therefore: Amnesia AU
> 
> Most of this is going to be played straight, with not much medical drama, rather, it will focus on the whole fact that QuackerJack still has to deal with the aftermath despite being unable to recall much of it.

**Prologue**

Darkwing Duck wasn't quite sure what he'd expected when he pulled open the front doors to the building, after all, the distance from the upper floors and the ground floor was quite a fall if one was to be thrown out the window, much like QuackerJack had been.

Darkwing had seen QuackerJack bounce back from more hefty drops, had seen him walk away from impact hits with very little shown damage, and had come to suspect that the mad clownish toy maker to have some level of resilience that could almost be admired.

So imagine his shock to find QuackerJack laying in a heap amongst the broken glass on the pavement walkway below. Darkwing looked up briefly to take note that it had been a fall from the third floor, then looked back at the motionless duck in front him.

"QuackerJack, didn't you hear what I said!"

Perhaps Darkwing had been in denial for as long as possible before the horrible thought sprung to mind: QuackerJack had fallen from the third floor window; he had yet to respond to Darkwing.

High strung, very energetic, it wasn't uncommon for QuackerJack to quite literally "bounce" from one action to the next. In fact, Darkwing had more than once witnessed QuackerJack spring up from a rough landing with little more than a scratch.

A weak cough was heard, and the feeble shaking from QuackerJack on the ground at least told Darkwing that at least the worst possible outcome hadn't happened. Darkwing approached him cautiously, and crouched beside him to get a better look.

QuackerJack's eyes were half open and blinking, as if he couldn't process what had just happened. One couldn't blame him, considering that hardly ten minutes ago, he'd been yanked back and forth between two sentient toys of his brought to life by a backfiring of the Molecular Digitizer, and even in his altered state of mind, it had been a horribly confusing experience.

It took a lot of effort, but eventually Darkwing managed to get QuackerJack to look his way by waving a hand in front of him, but the toy maker stared past Darkwing as if he wasn't there. That was about the time Darkwing realized that QuackerJack's hat was askew and torn from the impact, and that the reddish color he was seeing was in fact an abrasion on the right side of QuackerJack's head that was currently bleeding and soaking into the blue fabric half of the jester hat.

By all appearances, it seemed that QuackerJack had fallen on his head before he could get his bearings, and must have suffered an impact trauma from the landing.

"... Hey, QuackerJack, can you hear me?" Darkwing had forgotten about maintaining his vigilant, heroic persona now. One of his most infamous adversaries was now in a near lifeless heap on the pavement, and it was clear that QuackerJack wasn't in a fit state to even pick himself up from the ground, much less respond.

Darkwing cursed under his breath and shouted upward to Launchpad on the upper floor to get the Thunderquack ready to go.

* * *

Claire had received a phone call. She didn't know what to expect, honestly, but it was a phone call from the St. Canard hospital.

She asked the caller to repeat what they had just said, as for some reason, she couldn't quite understand what she was being told.

"... Who-? What! Jacky?  _He's there?_  Why is he there!" It didn't really occur to her immediately that Jacky might have been injured during the confrontation with Darkwing, whom Claire had trusted to reason with him during his rampage. "What's wrong with him, what happened!"

She scrambled for a pen and notepad to take notes as to what room to find him in, as well as a few other bits of important information she'd need to know.

"No, I don't know anything about any relatives, as far as I know, he's the only one in St. Canard, he never spoke about anyone else." She said, frowning as she switched the phone to her other hand and ear. "Please, is he alright? What's wrong with him?"

She almost dropped the phone at the answer.

"... What do you mean he fell out a third story window!" She shouted into the receiver. "Is he alright, is he awake, can I see him, is he going to know I'm there!"

This was all met with uncertainty. It wasn't clear at the moment how he was going to respond, if at all, as he was unconscious for the time being and not in a fit state to answer anything for himself, but at the very least, he was "stable and breathing".

It didn't take her very long to get to the hospital, and within minutes, she was being led to Jacky's room, having been forewarned that it was unlikely that she could get a reaction of any kind from him at this time. It was best to just let him rest, but she could at least peer into the room to look at him.

Claire honestly hadn't seen QuackerJack face to face for weeks, not since before he had escaped from St. Canard Penitentiary and went on a weeks-long "joy ride" through the city. That detached, wild eyed, empty-grinning face was not her "Jacky", and she had hoped that Darkwing would be able to reach him somewhere in that fractured psyche.

He was laying in a bed, patched up from the fall (in addition to the injury to his head, it appeared that the glass from the window had cut into him, so he also had bandaging wrapped and taped to the stitched up lacerations), and perhaps the only comforting thing about the sight was that there was only a few vital monitoring sensors stuck to him (monitoring his heart rate and brain activity, to name a couple of them), and not something as concerning as an oxygen mask or tube (so at least he wasn't having problems breathing).

His usual clownish attire was gone, and a hospital gown replaced it. The large, loose fitting garment only accentuated his lanky frame, which was noticeable thinner than she'd last seen him, making it very clear that he hadn't been eating properly during his time on the run.

His messy head feathers stuck out awkwardly from the top of his head because of the bandage wrapped around it. She had been told that it was seemingly miraculous that he didn't have any brain swelling or broken bones.

Clare looked at Darkwing, who was standing on a chair pushed up to the wall, so he could look into the room through the window. His hat was in a chair beside him, and Jacky's unmistakable jester's hat was in the chair on the other side of him, torn and visibly stained red.

"You were supposed to save him." She said quietly.

Darkwing visibly flinched.

"I didn't do this." He explained quickly with an almost desperate edge. "It's a bit hard to explain, but... You're really not going to believe this, but there was a... backfire and simply put, he fell out the window."

"I don't want it 'simple', I want to know exactly what happened to him."

Reluctantly, Darkwing stepped down from the chair and began to tell what had happened at the Whiffle Boy Entertainment office. He told her of how QuackerJack had been in a delusional state of mind, of how he'd been intending on using the very same technology that had once sent him into a video game (something Darkwing was able to vouch for the absurdity of the concept as he too had been involved in such an incident alongside him) to transform players into plush toys for whatever reason QuackerJack had conjured up in his mind.

He told her of how close he'd gotten to reaching out to QuackerJack with his beloved doll, but the progress was quickly dashed when the encounter was interrupted, and QuackerJack rejected his dear old friend almost violently.

Darkwing told her about how the machine had an unfortunate backfire, and how it brought his doll and it's "replacement" to life. Of how the events led to what was probably a mind shattering encounter as the dolls squabbled over him and all QuackerJack could do was stare, moan uncomfortably and finally scream for help. He told her how exactly QuackerJack ended up being launched through the third story window of the building, and how he must have been unable to prep himself for a hard landing, as he had done so many times before, likely because he couldn't process what had gone on and was likely in a daze long before he hit the ground.

"I've seen him get up from harder falls, so I didn't think much of it until he didn't get back up..."

Claire was holding Jacky's hat and stared at it with an expression of shock. It honestly hadn't occurred to her that the reddish stain was in fact blood, and the tear in it seemed to be from making contact with a rough surface and slid across. Now the bandage visibly wrapped around his head made more sense.

"... He fell on his head, didn't he?" She said, looking up and peering into the observation window at her unconscious boyfriend. Darkwing's awkward silence seemed to confirm that. "... It's a head injury, that's why he hasn't woken up yet, isn't it?"

"... I'm not an expert on this, but if I had to guess, I suppose so."

Claire asked the attending physician questions about Jacky's condition, such as when he was expected to regain consciousness and what was going to be done afterwards. All her questions were met with uncertainty, and it did nothing to assure her at all. A proper assessment could not be made until either enough data was collected, or if he regained consciousness and could be monitored.

Claire did not like the use of the word "if".

"Can I at least go in there and... I dunno, can I just be there for a minute or two?" She said before she really thought it out. "Will it help at all if I just talk to him, or hold his hand or something?"

"It's best to just let him rest for now, we still have to run some more tests through the night, but right now he's stable and been through a lot."

"I know that, but..." She started to protest but decided against it. "... You have my number, call me if there's anything else that happens tonight , I'll be back here tomorrow."

* * *

**The Following Morning**

She had been told to not expect him to be awake so soon, but it was hardly sunrise before her phone buzzed and chimed, an "alarm clock" she wasn't used to. It hadn't even been nine hours since she'd left the hospital and fallen asleep at home, but she was being called.

Jacky was awake.

He was having a fit, practically throwing a tantrum and screaming and chucking whatever he could pick up that wasn't too heavy and wasn't bolted down. From what she could hear in the background, Jacky wasn't very happy at all, and honestly, she couldn't blame him.

Claire was back at the hospital in less than fifteen minutes, and it was almost impressive how Jacky managed to keep that momentum of protesting, as he could be heard faintly before she even entered the building, and she suspected that if she hadn't known what room he was in to begin with, she would probably just be able to follow the angry yelling and crashing noises.

Once Claire got to the room, Jacky was swinging a pillow in the general direction of a well meaning nurse, shouting all sorts of angry words about how big of a mistake must have been made and all that.

"Mr. QuackerJack, please calm down, you've just been in an accident where you've suffered a head injury, the last thing you should be doing is  _this!_ "

"Like heck I have!" He gripped the pillow with both hands and lobbed it. "I don't know what is going on, but there's clearly been a mistake and I demand that you tell me why I'm here!"

The nurse ducked as the pillow sailed over her head, and hit a food tray, which knocked the hefty plastic bowl and utensils and contents off and onto the floor with a loud clattering sound.

"Mr. QuackerJack, I've already explained why you're here, you just won't listen!"

"Lies! I don't have to be here, I'm perfectly fine!" He shouted back, looking around in a near panicked fashion for something else to throw, but it seemed that the pillow had been his last desperate means of defense.

"Jacky!" Claire wasn't exactly sure what she had planned to say, but at the very least, she managed to say his name, perhaps a bit more sternly than she had intended. Before she could say anything else, however, Jacky had navigated the room and away from the nurse and was now standing beside her, clutching onto her fearfully.

"Claire! Oh, thank goodness you're here! I don't know what's going on or why I'm here or anything and I'm so confused and my head hurts and I wanna go home!"

It took her a moment to make much sense of what Jacky had said, mostly because it was all in rapid succession and all in one breath. He looked up at her, having buried his face just seconds before, eyes very wide, and fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt desperately.

"... Jacky." Claire said in a careful tone, as gently as she could. "Do you remember what you were doing before you ended up here?"

His eyes managed to widen even more for the briefest of seconds before he rolled his gaze to the floor and darted his eyes back and forth, trying to mentally sort out the series events to his knowledge. He bit his lip, reached a hand to his head and froze when he felt downy feathers touch his fingertips instead of the familiar fabric.

"... Hat." He squeaked before he raised his head and looked around frantically. He took a deep breath and shouted: "Hat! Where's my hat! My hat is gone!"

Claire remembered the state of the hat in question, and was almost hesitant to tell Jacky that his beloved hat was damaged, as he was already having difficulty processing this situation enough as was. The moment he started to claw at the bandaging around his head in a screaming panic and the attending nurse rushed forward to try to stop him, was when she decided to be about as blunt as possible about it.

"Jacky, you fell out of a window, you need to keep that on!" Claire was a bit surprised are how deceivingly strong his thin arms were, as she and the nurse both had to hold either arm back with two hands each. He screamed and kicked his feet and lost his footing, but thier grip on him prevented him from falling backwards, so he just sank to the floor.

"I don't remember that! I don't remember any of that! Where is my hat! What is happening! What's happening!"

"If he doesn't calm down, he's going to have to be sedated, and I'm sure he's not going to be happy about that when he comes around." The nurse said to Claire in a surprisingly calm tone, perhaps because she was used to unruly patients like this. "Personally, I want to avoid that as much as possible, because of the side effects will likely make him sick, but he's getting really close with all this fighting and screaming."

"... Sick?"

"While it  _will_  tranquilize him, the physical effects will range from drowsiness to pretty much inebriated. We prefer to use it only if necessary, as it tends to leave the patient feeling like a zombie afterwards, and more often than not, they may be physically ill, so we'd have to find an alternative." The nurse explained as Jacky continued to shout and squirm hysterically. She certainly seemed unfazed by his response. "In reality, it's a type of sleeping drug, and it comes with a host of side effects that may be problematic for a situation such as his. He's had a head injury, so drugging him right now could be detrimental, even dangerous if it's not under controlled conditions."

"Why would I have fallen out of a window, anyway!" Jacky pulled his arms back forcefully, managing to slip out of Claire's grip, and then he quickly reached his free hand to his other arm to pry it loose. "I was nowhere near a window! Where's my hat! What's going on!"

"Mr. QuackerJack, I have already explained the situation to you more than once, if you'd just calm down, I'd be more than happy to explain it again if you'd like."

"I can't calm down because I don't understand what happened and I'm very close to losing my mind over it!" He raised his free hand with the clear intent to strike the nurse, but Claire caught it. "... Claire, sweetie, you're grabbing my good hand." He said with sudden change of demeanor, as if he hadn't just been responding in a panic stricken rage just seconds ago.

"Because you're about to assault a nurse, and I know you really don't want to, you're just very confused right now."

"Of course I'm confused! I shouldn't be here, I don't know what's going on!"

"You fell out of a third story window, Jacky. You fell and hit your head, and that's why you're here and why you're injured."

"... Don't tell me you believe that too, Claire?" There was a strange mix of exasperated desperation in his voice as he looked over his shoulder at her. "I know I've been a bit difficult this week, but that's no reason to-"

"I was in here with you last night!" She didn't mean to snap at him, but it was getting frustrating that he didn't seem to understand the severity of the situation. "I saw you laying in that hospital bed, and you were unconscious and Darkwing Duck was the one who brought you here!"

This made Jacky freeze as though any input from his brain to his actions just plain stopped. His arms lost any muscle tone they hand and went completely dead weight, and he stared at Claire with his mouth agape.

"... That's... That's not funny, Claire..." He finally managed in a small voice as the nurse checked the tightness of the head bandage to be sure Jacky hadn't compromised the usefulness of it. He flinched when it was tugged. "... That's not funny, Darkwing has been missing for over year now... No one's seen him for a long time..."

This immediately did not sit right with Claire. She knew he knew full well that Darkwing Duck returned to St. Canard at least a few months ago; in fact, Jacky had even seen him face-to-face. But, the confusion Jacky had right now over that statement seemed genuine, as if he seriously had no idea.

"... Jacky, what day do you think today is?"

He recited it with absolute confidence, as if he didn't have a single doubt about the answer.

It was not correct.

Not even close.

"... That was four months ago, Jacky." Claire shook her head and felt her heart sink when her poor boyfriend looked as though he'd felt a rug get pulled out from underneath him. He looked absolutely lost.

"... Wha... What..?" Jacky squeaked, and his fingers unconsciously fidgeted as though he was trying reach for his now non-existent hat. "... Hat... I... I need to grab at... I want my hat..." He mumbled under his breath.

"I'm so sorry, Jacky, but... well, your hat kind of got... torn when you fell." Claire said carefully, and he looked back at her with so much apprehension, he just looked so physically affected by that news.

"... Did you save it? Where is it! Where is my hat! I want my hat!" Jacky was on the verge of tears now.

It was clear that his priorities were elsewhere at the moment, and he didn't seem to comprehend that the state of his hat was the least of his worries. Claire was well aware that QuackerJack had a tendency to lapse into a sort of defensive state where only one thing was important at the moment and he would likely not be placated until that one issue was resolved in his point of view.

He wanted his hat, it was almost like a security item, and he did not have it to grab and pull at while having to process all this confusing new information, so he was starting to be overstimulated with this entire ordeal with no real sense of comfort.

It wasn't long before he burst into tears and sobbed and wailed as he grabbed at the fabric of the hospital gown he wore as a weak substitute for grabbing his hat. He was absolutely inconsolable, maybe even hysterical, he didn't understand what was going on, he tried to but he just didn't understand.

He wanted his hat.

He wasn't sure how much time must have passed, but he found himself rubbing at his irritated eyes like a fussy youngster. He honestly didn't feel much better, in fact, he felt like he was going to be sick, probably from all the confusion and swirling emotions.

What followed next was almost as much of a blur as everything had been moments ago for him, and the only thing he was absolutely sure of was the sour taste in his mouth, the uncomfortable bubbling in his stomach, and the sudden heaviness of his poor dizzy head.

"... I don't feel good..." He mumbled weakly, burying his face in his hands with a tired groan. "... I don't feel good at all..."

"Mr. QuackerJack, I'm sure this is a lot for you to take in right now, but if you are feeling ill, then we really need to have those tests done to be sure that it's not connected with your head injury." He heard the nurse say with a mild sense of alarm that he hadn't heard used yet in this whole situation. "We need to be absolutely certain that you are not experiencing any complications that could be serious if we do nothing about it."

It proved to be a bit difficult to deal with him, as you might have guessed. It probably would have been easier to work with a cranky child, but he was a full grown, emotionally distraught adult, and the only thing he seemed to want to do despite the concerns having been voiced, was to cling to Claire with as much a grip as a koala on a eucalyptus tree. Had he been smaller, she might have been able to use that as a means to help transport him to a more comfortable place, such as the bed, while they waited for the doctor to arrive, but that was not the case, so his dead wieght kept her from being able to stand up with him.

"Jacky, please, I'm very worried about you."

"... I don't understand what's going on... I don't know what's going on... That doesn't make any sense..." He was muttering under his breath and it seemed like he was talking mostly to himself. This possibility was somewhat confirmed when he spoke up a bit louder in a strained voice. "... How can it be four months later, what happened, where was I, where was I..?"

This was about the moment that Claire realized exactly what must have happened to Jacky and his perception of time.

"Jacky, what's the last thing you remember?"

He pulled his head back and looked at her, and he looked so nerve wracked and exhausted, and just so unsure of himself now. It was honestly heartbreaking to see him this helpless.

"... I was at work." The confidence he had had when reciting the incorrect date had dissipated greatly, and he was beginning to realize himself that something was very wrong indeed. His voiced raised a few pitches as he quickly dissolved into a panic as he let go of her and grabbed his head and started rocking back and forth. "I was at work, Claire, what happened, I was at work, I was at work, what happened, what happened to me, I was at work, I know I was at work, tell me I was at work, Claire!"

"... Jacky..." Claire didn't know what to say. She certainly didn't want to lie to him, but it was clear that he was starting to have a nervous breakdown. She grabbed his hands and he looked back at her with a dumbfounded expression, mouth hanging open on shock. "Jacky, I really don't know how to tell you this, and I really don't want to hurt you, but... You snapped and... You... You've been doing things for the past four months, you've been doing these terrible things and-"

"Claire, that's not funny!" Jacky shouted over her, sounding as appalled as he looked hurt. "I haven't done anything, why are you doing this! I don't like this game, I don't want to play!"

"Mr. QuackerJack, please, you need to calm down." The nurse insisted, sounding a little more urgent than she had been several minutes ago. "I understand that this has to be very confusing and upsetting for you, but I promise that we will do everything we can to make this as easy as possible. We won't be able to get an accurate reading for your blood pressure if you keep being this worked up, as well as it can be an issue if there is any trauma to your brain from that fall."

"What fall! No one has even explained that to me! Why would I have fallen out of window, I don't remember that, I don't remember anything but being in my cubicle!" Jacky had yet to calm down, and his face was flushed from the whirlwind of emotional distress. "I don't-! I just-! I... I... oooh, I really don't feel so good..." He hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "... I'm dizzy and everything is tilting..."

"Is he alright?" Claire asked the nurse as Jacky leaned into her in an attempt to find stability. "I mean, obviously he's injured, but can you tell right away if this is just a reaction to the shock of everything, or if it's more serious?"

"Once we can run those tests and check his vitals, we'll be able to get a better assessment as to what might be a concern and what is just a physical reaction to the news of this all." The nurse said earnestly, crouching to be level with the two ducks. Jacky opened an eye to stare at her apprehensively. "Mr. QuackerJack, the sooner we can get started, the faster we can get to tending to what's wrong."

"... No one still has told me why I could have fallen out of a window to begin with, I don't even know what you're telling me, my cubicle is in the middle of the office, it's nowhere near a window..."

"Jacky, I'm sorry I have to tell you this, but you didn't fall out of an office window. At least, it wasn't QuackWerks' office window."

"... Claire, I was at QuackWerks, I know I was at QuackWerks..." The denial was very thick in his voice, but he maintained stubborn confidence that it was fact he was stating. "... I told you, I don't like this game... It's not funny..."

"... I really don't want to be right about this, but I think you've got amnesia." Claire finally said, flinching when Jacky tensed and craned his head to look at her with a wide eyed gobsmacked expression.

"... Sparky's the one with a bad memory, not me..." He said slowly. Maybe it was starting to sink in, as his tone was now less confident and more desperate. "... I was at work, Claire, I know I was at work..." A smile suddenly spread on his face, the sort of smile accompanied by half-closed, bleary eyes and a slack posture, a clear sign of denial. "... I'm... I'm dreaming... This is all just a bad dream... I've been stressing out, and I'm just having another nightmare and I'm going to wake up and everything is going to be the way it should... I'm at QuackWerks, I'm still at QuackWerks..."

He didn't really see the look Claire on her face as she exchanged glances with the nurse. He did, however, feel the hand she had placed on his back in a comforting gesture, but he did not understand why she was doing that right now.

"... Jacky, are you going to be okay?"

"Nope." He laughed, and took a deep breath in the form of a very theatrical gasp. "Naw, I don't think so, I don't think I'm following very well, when do I get out of here so I can get back to work?"

"No, I don't think you're following very well at all, Jacky. It's been four months, you've had a psychotic break, and you been-"

"Please stop, I don't like this scary game you're trying to play with me, Claire, it's really starting to hurt my feelings." Jacky was very calm now, despite the fact that he was pale and shaking while he was speaking. "I was at work, and now I'm here and no one is telling me what really happened, and I don't appreciate it at all."

"... Why would you think that I'd be messing with you like this?"

"I dunno, that's what I'm trying to figure out, Claire."

"And I'm telling you that this is all the truth."

"Can't be." Jacky shook his head, but stopped when that affected his equilibrium, much to his discomfort.

"... Alright, then, Jacky, you try to explain it." Claire said suddenly, and this tactic threw her boyfriend for a loop.

"... Eh?"

"What do you think happened to you?"

"..." Jacky paused, and thought to himself, before he clenched his teeth and squawked: " _I don't know!_  I don't remember anything after sitting in my chair! I didn't do anything! Why is that so hard for you to get that!"

"I get it, I get that you're very confused and none of this makes any sense to you, but I'm not trying to hurt you, it's the truth."

"Give me your phone."

"What?"

"Your phone. The date on it, what's the day?"

"Exactly what we told you."

"The clock is supposed to be connected to some satellite thing, right? And that means that it's automatically updated with the proper time. Let me see what's the day and time."

Claire reached into her bag and pulled out her phone and handed it to him. Jacky awkwardly pressed at the side buttons and swiped at the screen until he finally remembered how to pull up the calendar and time.

His face fell, and he stared at it for a good long while before he looked up and said in a smaller voice: "... My phone. What's the date on it? There's clearly something wrong with yours..."

"Jacky, your phone was confiscated, I don't have it."

"...  _Whu-why!_ " He stammered in a strained tone. It was honestly as distressing to watch everything fall around him as it was for him to be experiencing this terrifying chain of events.

"... Open the messages, and look at our last exchange."

Numbly, he did so and if it was possible for the orange color of his beak to drop a few shades to a sickly hue, it certainly seemed like it did.

"... I didn't write this..." He said hoarsely. He blinked rapidly and shoved the phone back in Claire's hands as if wanting to get it away from him as fast as possible. "I... This isn't... I don't understand..."

"Jacky, I want to help you understand all this, but we're really not getting anywhere with this right now, and we're really cutting into time for those tests..." Claire honestly felt that upsetting Jacky like this was really not the way to go about it to begin with, and she'd honestly hadn't intended for the whole conversation to be this continous runaround of feedback.

Jacky didn't understand, simple as that.

He kept asking for information to disprove what he was being told, and every single thing was contrary to what he expected.

That was upsetting to him, and all Claire was able to do was reiterate what she knew, which did nothing to settle him. If she didn't interrupt him right now, they'd likely go through this cycle a few more times before he either gave up or couldn't handle any more information, and while she wasn't an expert on how memory works, she'd have to assume that doing it this way wasn't really helping at all.

Claire looked at the exasperated nurse, who must have had the patience of a saint.

"We can't stop now, I still don't understand any of this!" Jacky continued to shout, hands balled up in frustration. Oh, man, he missed his hat.

"Jacky, you've been out of it for a while, I bet you can't remember the last time you've eaten something." Claire was changing the subject in order to steer his attention elsewhere.

Jacky stopped and looked as though he certainly could not think of when indeed.

"... Now that you mention it, I don't think I remember when at all."

"You'll probably feel better if you had something to eat. We can probably do something about that after you get checked out."

"... Are you bribing me?"

"I'm just concerned. If it's going to get you examined sooner, I'd like that. You fell and landed on your head, that alone is a bit concerning."

"I've taken heavier hits, y'know? I've always been fine."

"Jacky, I saw you after you were brought in last night, you were unconscious, and you just woke up literally before I got here, that doesn't sound like one of those times." Claire said more sternly. "On top of that, you admitted that you don't remember anything about the accident, and I'm telling you that there's an entire four month space of time that you admit to have no memory of, and I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that could be a good reason to get examined, if at the very least it's to make sure you don't have a some kind of brain swelling or blood clot that hasn't shown up yet because you've been inactive since you got knocked out. Do you know how upset I'd be if you had an  _aneurysm_  because you were too stubborn to let us help you?"

"... Well, when you say it like that..." Jacky muttered, looking as though the importance of tending to his examination being the priority finally began to sink in, despite the fact that he still was confused as ever. "... I don't like this, Claire. I don't like any of this..."

"... I know, Jacky. Me, too."

* * *

Surprisingly, the exam went fairly well, considering.

Sure, Jacky was, for lack of a better term, disgruntled, but aside from being a little on the underweight side (from lack of proper eating while out on the run, which he continued to insist that he hadn't a clue about), and of course his scrapes and bruises from the fall, as well as the obvious impairment of his memory... He was in fairly good physical health for his situation, considering he'd been "gone" for four months.

X-rays showed his bones to be relatively fine despite having fallen from a third story window and landed on his head.

His reflexes seemed to be unaffected, and his balance while walking was relatively intact, aside from a minor limp from the soreness starting to settle in his extremities. In fact, he couldn't help but notice that his arms felt like they'd been pulled back and forth roughly, and there were some bruises on his forearms and wrists that looked suspiciously like two sets of very large hands had left thier marks.

An MRI scan showed that there had been some trauma to his temporal lobe, however, which apparently explained why he was having memory issues, though he didn't understand half of the technical lingo that was being tossed around.

All he really understood about the explanation was that he managed to land on the part of his head that was where his memories were stored (specifically, the very same spot where that nasty looking abrasion was that had been stitched and covered with gauze). He also had to figure that the fact that it had been localized to just four months worth of memory was nothing short of astonishing, and that there'd been many before him that had suffered a far larger range of amnesia from less serious spills.

"All the same, I'd feel better if we can monitor this for the next few days, just to be sure there isn't some underlying issue we haven't quite caught yet." The doctor said as Jacky sat on the cushioned exam table, legs crossed at the ankles, and posture rather tense. "If you really did fall as far as we've been told, then there's a concern for something like post-traumatic seizures, even though it's actually quite rare."

"... I've don't have epilepsy."

"That's what we hope to keep that way, hence why we want to monitor you." The doctor reassured him and Claire, who was reading a packet of papers she'd been handed. "We can counter the possibility by prescribing an anticonvulsant until we're out of the danger zone, but the side effects will leave you feeling a little on the disoriented side for a while."

"... Exactly how?"

"Well, to put it simple, it'll feel a lot like being on a tilt-a-whirl for a few hours in one go. You'll most likely be dizzy, tired and sick until it evens out, and you'll definitely feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton. But, I assure you, it's a better thing to deal with than the probability of seizures, and it may also curb the development of migraines that are a direct result of your impact trauma, if we act soon enough." The doctor explained, pointing to a highlighted portion of the information packet. "Honestly, the entire outlook looks positive, it's astounding that you've come out of this accident, for the most part, unscathed. We've had patients in worse condition from shorter falls."

"I'm being told that I've done things for the past four months that I don't remember at all, how is that 'unscathed'?" Jacky huffed, squinting at the highlighted section of the page Claire was on. "What is wrong with my brain?"

"Mr. QuackerJack, based on the examination and your results, we can only guess that the impact caused a localized injury to your temporal lobe, which, among other things, is where your long-term memory is stored." The doctor pointed to one of the x-ray layers and circled a finger around a particular spot, but Jacky honestly couldn't read the image at all other than it was a black and white internal picture of what was unmistakably his skull. "These kinds of injuries are varied, and how long they last is so inconsistent that we can't be sure for how long you'll be affected. Some recover lost memory within a week, and some have waited years, even decades, for them to come back. Some are unfortunate to sustain injury to a part of the brain that controls motor function, or even a part of the brain that allows them to do something as simple as how to hold a fork. All in all, Mr. QuackerJack, you're very lucky to be this awake and coherent from your accident last night."

"... I still don't understand how I could have fallen out of a third story window. Aren't those supposed to made with reinforced glass to prevent that..? I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be safety glass, there's all sorts of regulations in place to prevent that..." Jacky mumbled, pulling the paper packet out of Claire's hands to look at them better. "... Wait a minute... The Toy Department isn't even on the third floor, that's the second lobby!" He shouted suddenly as if something finally clicked in a way he still couldn't grasp beyond the surface.

"Jacky... sweetie... you didn't fall out of QuackWerks' building." Claire said with a heavy tone. Jacky did not like the sadness shadowing under it. "You haven't been at QuackWerks for four months."

"I just don't understand where I was and why I would have fallen like that. This is very scary for me, that's four months, Claire, that's one-third of a year, a whole season and then some, that's a lot to be forgetting." Jacky was grabbing at the hem of the hospital clothes he was wearing, and twisted it in his fingers anxiously. "... Oh, man, this is probably what Megs goes through everyday, I can't imagine how he handles it, and all I ever did for him about it was tease him for being such a scatterbrain, this is probably karma, I'll bet..."

* * *

It felt like an eternity to him until he was finally able to get something to eat. He couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten anything, and he'd have to assume that during this strange four months he was drawing a blank on, he must have not had much access to food, as he couldn't help but notice that his weight dropped back to that underfed scrawniness he'd been during his time as one of St. Canard's most wanted, back in the day.

He was rather disappointed, as he knew that meant that he hadn't been as healthy as he should have been, and to be honest, it was very startling to be in such a drastically different condition than he could last recall, and it just fed into his uneasiness of the whole situation.

"The list says that it's recommended that you probably should avoid junk food for a while and fruits, vegetables and alternative proteins that aren't red meat can help with healing your brain." Claire was reading another packet of stapled papers to him as they sat at a table in the hospital café. She was also cross referencing it with the laminated menu on the table. "Nothing processed, so that means anything from a can is probably right out."

"... I want a cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake."

"You can have a nice salad and a fruit smoothie."

"That's almost exactly the opposite of what I want."

"Jacky, it says that junk food could slow down the healing process and chocolate and sweets might trigger headaches during then, I don't think you'd want that."

"And I want a cheeseburger with gooey cheese, like, really messy with sauce and all that, maybe bacon in it, too. Fries with ketchup, and a big chocolate milkshake. Oh, and onion rings."

"... I'll tell you what. How about we do that when we get the okay to do it? Right now, we have to take care of you, and that's certainly not the right thing to eat after a head injury."

"... I don't like this, it's boring." Jacky said with a little bit of a whine. "... Can't even put sauce on most of this, it's gonna be all bland and I don't like that..."

"You do know that there's a wide variety of flavors and textures that you can get with this particular diet, right?" Claire said, looking up from the page at him. "Besides, it wouldn't be a bad idea to get you to eat something a little healthier anyway. You can't subsist on just fast food, you know that."

"Fine, but you can't make me like it."

He had originally intended to be as slow as possible just to be mildly spiteful over being denied a cheeseburger, but he'd underestimated exactly how hungry he really was, and even a few bits of broccoli was appealing enough to him that he hardly complained beyond a small comment on how much he didn't care for broccoli. It was simply a bizzare thought to him that he was borderline starving, and it only made him more and more concerned that he had no idea what he'd been doing for the past four months. Apparently, he hadn't been in the right mind to also feed himself properly...

The smoothie was merely blended fruits and ice, so a very simple recipe compared to the more trendy varients available at local shops, and Jacky had to assume that the difference was that it had been prepared at a hospital than some hipster café (though he would have probably preferred those, as he'd actually have a say in what went in it). Being an easy-to-consume item that required very little action beyond sipping through a straw and swallowing, it was probably the least tiresome to actually eat, and that was appealing to him for the sake of convenience. The sooner he was done with this, the better.

He continued to sip at the smoothie as he and Claire walked back to his room, and he made noises of acknowledgement as she continued to read the information from the packet aloud. Recommendations for feeding schedules and activities to help with recovery and avoid stagnantion.

"Hmm, it actually says that there's evidence supporting that certain puzzle video games could help stimulate the-"

"Nope."

"I figured you'd say that, but I'm just saying that it's an option and I just want to be sure we do everything we can to get you better."

"Wow, I really must have been out of it for video games to actually be considered helpful." Jacky said with a hint of sarcasm before adding in a more serious tone: "Y'know, I was eaten by a virtual alligator once, in a video game. I don't mean that I played a game and the character was eaten, I mean that I was actually in the game because of some technical backfire of fancy technology mumbo jumbo, and I was actually, by all accounts, eaten by an alligator. It was not fun, and I can't see how that could be considered therapeutic."

"Okay, so that's one bad experience, but not every game is like that, really."

Claire wasn't sure if he had heard her, because her attention was captured by a sudden harsh gasp and she looked away from the packet and turned around just in time to see the plastic cup of remaining smoothie drop from Jacky's hands and splatter the fruity drink all over the linoleum tile and across his feet. He didn't seem to notice the fumble, as his eyes were fixed on something in the adjacent waiting room that appeared to be upsetting him.

"... Jacky?" Claire said cautiously as he didn't respond and he stepped into the waiting room, eyes locked on a mounted television in the corner. "Jacky, what are you doing?"

He didn't even look at her, and it was starting to get a little troubling. His eyes were wide, his shoulders slack, arms hanging limply, and his head tilted upward at the screen as he got closer to the corner, completely oblivious to the other people in the waiting room, who were just as perplexed by his behavior as she was.

There was a local news report being broadcast live, about something that had happened the night prior. Witnesses were giving thier frantic accounts of the event, and grainy surveillance footage corroborated the statements.

The unmistakable sign behind some of those interviewed showed that this building was "Whiffle Boy Entertainment".

There was a very familiar, very unmistakable, colorfully dressed clownish duck involved. The footage showed him to be very unstable, almost unhinged as he laughed and pranced around the office giddishly as the terrified workers cowered beneath thier desks. Jacky recognized the Molecular Digitizer, the very one that he'd been beamed into the Whiffle Boy video game several years ago alongside Darkwing, and he visibly paled as the screen showed the silent footage of the mad clown gleefully using it to turn a few helpless workers into sawdust filled dolls, all while the reporter narrated over it.

"... Jacky? Are you alright?" Claire said carefully, approaching him cautiously, not wanting to startle him any more than he already was.

He was biting at his nails now, and Claire knew if she didn't intervene, he was going to bite them down too short before he'd register in his mind that he should stop.

She grabbed his hands and pulled them away from his teeth and that's when he finally tore his attention away from the screen and turned his head to look at her with eyes as round as plates.

"... What did I do, Claire?" He said in a weak voice, as if he still didn't believe it. "... What have I done..? I did this, didn't I..?"

"... Do you remember any of it?"

"No. I don't remember anything, not about the last four months, not about last night, not even how I got hurt." He shook his head insistently. "... But, that's... that's me, that's me on the screen, I don't remember, but that's me, that's me, Claire, that's me and I don't remember anything!"

He looked back at the mounted television, shell shocked.

"-QuackerJack, who had escaped St. Canard Penitentiary two months prior during his sentence being served for terroristic attacks against QuackWerks and thier entertainment subsidiaries several months ago, was reportedly the only casualty in this attack, after a backfire of the device led to him being launched out of a window, where he was injured and later taken to the St. Canard Hospital, reportedly in critical condition upon arrival, but has since become stable. The attending physician tasked with tending to him was unavailable for comment, and it is unknown when the suspect will be capable of being interviewed once he recovers-"

"...  _Escaped St. Canard Penitentiary-?_ " Jacky wheezed weakly, looking as though he felt like the floor had just fallen out from under him and it left him with a sensation of free falling. "... I haven't... Claire? Claire!  _Claire! What's happening! What did I do! I don't remember any of that! What's happened to me!_ "

He was absolutely panicked now, and was pointing at the screen with a very shaky posture, actually having to brace himself against a nearby chair for support as the weight of this reality was dropping down on him, he himself completely unprepared for this information.

He was getting very dizzy, and the air was getting very thick and heavy for his lungs. His knees buckled and he found himself sitting on the floor with his hand still gripping the arm of the chair, having no idea how exactly he'd gone from standing to sitting so quickly, he was just that disoriented.

He couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember anything about the last four months.

He went to work after a mandated two weeks vacation after he'd had an anxiety attack out of nowhere.

He'd gone to work. He sat down in his cubicle, and picked up his cell phone.

He'd gone to work, sat down at his desk and grabbed his phone, and woke up in a hospital bed, absolutely bewildered and terrified and bandaged and stitched up, being told that things had happened that he could not recall no matter how hard he tried.

But, that was him in the news footage. There was no doubt, it was his clown costume, his hat, his big wide toothy grin that really seemed so off in way he couldn't exactly place. It was him terrorizing those people. It was him laughing and skipping around the gaming company's main office as the scared workers shrank away from him beneath thier desks, huddling in groups as large as three.

He wasn't even sure he wanted to know what he possibly could have been saying to them, those poor people.

He dropped his head and didn't want to see any more of it, he didn't want to watch this, he didn't want to admit that it was him, but he knew that ultimately, there was no way he could use a faulty memory as an excuse.

"... I'm going to jail, aren't I..?" He moaned, running his fingers through the downy fuzz on his head, staring at his feet, which he was now distantly aware that there was sticky fruit smoothie dried across the top of them. "... There's no way around it, I did something bad and I have to pay for that..."

"... Let's just focus on getting you better, first, Jacky." Claire was sitting on the floor next to him, a little relieved that he'd managed to calm down before he'd triggered another anxiety attack, despite the situation. "You've been gone a long time, I've really missed you."

"... You heard the news, Claire. They called me a terrorist, that's a very strong term, it's a massive jump from just doing 'toy crimes'." Jacky said in a low voice, burying his face in his hands. "... I'm ruined, everything is ruined..."

"They're probably blowing that just a little out of proportion for the sake of ratings..." Claire tried (and failed) to alleviate some of his guilt. "Yeah, you did blow up a few buildings, and yeah, you kinda kidnapped someone, and okay... I admit that I was shocked that you'd taken the Whiffle Boy Entertainment office hostage, but really, there's no serious casualties beyond property damages and scaring some people. No one was injured or dead, so that's going to be accounted for when they adjust your sentencing."

"... I did  _what!_ " Jacky squawked, and Claire realized too late that she may have been a bit too blunt about it. "I kidnapped someone! Who!"

"Your old teammate, Mr. Sputterspark. That's all been sorted out, though, it was months ago."

"Megs. I kidnapped  _Megs?_ " Jacky racked his brain, and there was certainly no recollection of that anywhere, in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his old teammate. It was very concerning to him. "... Claire, I don't think you understand, I really don't remember anything about the last four months, it all feels like everything moved forward without me, I feel like I'm in one of those stories with the cornfield and the things on the wings of planes and I don't like this, I don't like it at all, Claire. I really tried to be good and work hard, and it's all gone and I don't know what happened, and now I don't think I really want to know..."

"It's not going to be easy, since there's no telling if you'll get any of that memory back, or when it might happen, but I'm just glad you're back, Jacky." Claire said, leaning on him in a comforting gesture. "I mean it. I've been worried about you the whole time you've been having this episode. I know what you were doing wasn't right, but I know you weren't feeling like yourself. You just... snapped, that's all."

"... 'Just snapped' isn't exactly an excuse, you know?" Jacky lifted his head from his hands and frowned. "I shouldn't have done any of that. I could have really hurt someone. Who's going to believe I won't do it again? This isn't the first time I went crazy, remember?"

"... Don't worry about it right now, just work on healing, and we'll deal with all that when we have to." Claire tilted her head to look up at him. "You need to take care of yourself first, brain  _and_  body."

"... Claire?"

"Yeah?"

"We're right in the middle of a waiting room, aren't we?"

"... Yeah, we are."

"... And those people saw everything, didn't they?"

"You did kinda wander off into here, yeah."

"... I wanna go back to my room now."

"Okay, Jacky."


	2. Chapter 2

They weren't kidding about the side effects of the anticonvulsant, Jacky did indeed feel like he'd spent hours on a tilt-a-whirl, and the vertigo was making his eyes dance back and forth as he tried to stablize his see-sawing vision.

He was sipping at a cup of ginger root tea to stave off the gross feeling in his stomach as well as trying to counter that annoying dry mouth that was also a side effect. He would have preferred the remedy in the form of a ginger ale soda, but apparently there was concern that the fizz would upset his stomach further, but he suspected that it was just a ploy to deny him something sugary, which he understood would have likely triggered a bad headache in his injured state.

The shock of learning yesterday about the precise reason for his fall had disapated considerably, but that was probably because he was more preoccupied with trying to ignore the mild dizziness that was a side effect of the treatment.

"... Do these bruises look like hand marks to you?" He said, holding up one of his arms. "I mean, I know that I'd probably have a lot of bruises from the fall, obviously, but these ones on my arms and wrists look like hand marks, like I was grabbed."

"Those look really big to be any sort of hands I've ever seen, are you sure you don't remember if you might have hit something odd shaped instead?" Claire said before looking at the nurse. "Do you know what might have made those? They look almost the same on either arm."

"They hurt, too." Jacky added, turning his arm slightly to get a better look as he squinted to clear his vision. "All the bruises do, but these ones feel less like I hit something and more like it stayed for a bit and pulled me around. The whole arm's all sore, really, even where it's not bruised. Both of 'em."

He awkwardly placed his hand back on the cup to hold it in both, and carefully raised it to take another sip, very concentrated on not spilling any at all. He really hated this disorienting feeling and couldn't wait for it to level out. He tried to stifle a yawn, but failed miserably.

"You getting a little sleepy there, Jacky?"

"... Unfortunately." He blinked twice, struggling to keep his eyes open. "... Doc wasn't kidding, this stuff really wipes you out..."

"If you want to just take a nap, go on ahead, I'll understand."

"Aw, but, that'd be just rude, Claire. 'sides, it's hardly noon, I've barely been up a few hours..." His words were starting to slur a little from the drowsiness, and he was determined to stay awake as long as possible so long as Claire was around. Truth be told, he was a little concerned that he was going to fall asleep and wake up to find out that another unrealistic amount of time had passed and be told of  _another_ myriad of offenses he'd committed in his altered state.

His eyes were a bit crossed and he set the half empty cup down on the side table with a bit of difficulty, and he was a little embarrassed to find that he'd almost missed the tabletop entirely, had it not been for Claire quickly grabbing the cup before he'd let go.

He looked at her helplessly, and it took all his willpower to keep himself from bursting into tears. He suspected the disorienting sensation of the drug's side effects was to blame for his emotional sensitivity and poor coordination at the moment, and oh man, it was embarrassing.

He suppose that the only saving grace was that he had yet to be physically ill from the prescribed treatment, but as the minutes passed, he was becoming less confident that he could keep that true if he tried to stand.

Apparently, these were common side effects, and nothing to be concerned about unless pain was involved. Yes, he was dizzy, but at least it wasn't a headache. Yes, his stomach was a bit uneasy, but at least it wasn't a tummyache. Yes, he was getting sleepy, but at least he hadn't flat out fainted.

It was normal, he was assured, as he chattered off each complaint of every disorienting sensation.

He wondered if he would have been able to tell the difference between an ouchie from the medication and one of those nasty little bruises that was beginning to flair up all over his body now that some time had passed.

The worst of the bruises, it seemed, was a set that was along his right side, which he assumed was were the majority of the impact had happened when he landed on the pavement. The set was along the right side of his shoulder, face and collarbone, and had wasted no time in making itself known under his pale plumage, announcing itself in a purplish hue. He was told that it may take a week or so for the contusions to fade, and all he could think of was how it hurt the side of his face to raise the edges of his beak into a familiar smile.

"... I don't like this, Claire..." Jacky mumbled, leaning back into the fluffy pillows that was propping him up. "... The last time I felt this gross and tired, I was having withdrawals..."

"... Wait, you remember that?" Claire was a bit surprised and wondered for a moment of his memory of the last four months was trickling back.

"... Of course, Claire, I've been telling you all week that those were sugar pills..." Jacky grunted, rubbing at his eyes, then heaving a sigh. "... Sorry, it's been longer than a week, hasn't it? Ugh, it's so weird to me that everything in longer than it feels like to me..."

Claire's heart sank a little.

"... Actually, Jacky, we... it was confirmed that those were the wrong... yeah, they were sugar pills." She said guiltily, recalling the week before Jacky had completely gone bonkers after realizing that his monthly prescription had been swapped out for placebos by someone that was never caught.

For the first time since he'd been reunited with her, his eyes lit up despite the fact that he was inebriated, and for a second, a relieved grin flashed on his face before the bruising reminded him to stop.

"I knew it! Didn't I tell you? I knew I wasn't... Um... Oh, well that's not exactly true, is it..?" He quickly lost steam once he recalled that he was unable to claim total mental stability, and he visibly deflated. "... I bet that's why I can't remember anything... I broke under the shock, maybe..?"

"I don't know, Jacky, and really, you can't just assume. Catch-22, you know?"

"I know, but I'd just like to have a solid explanation of what happened to me." Jacky folded his arms while pouting.

He yawned again, this time more theatrically, and he flinched a little when it set off another bout of soreness from his bruises. His head drooped back somewhat, as it seemed like his neck muscles were getting weak from trying to hold it up right, and he stared upward with a distant look, thinking to himself about how bright the lights were at the moment and how they burned at his eyes.

"Jacky, why don't you just try to sleep this stuff off?" Claire said, helping him pull his head upright and then helped him into a more comfortable position with help from the nurse. "You're clearly tired, and it wouldn't hurt to rest a little."

"... You won't let me run off again, will you?"

It took Claire a moment to realize that was a weak attempt at humor and she was willing to let him slide on that comment given that he was more or less under the loopy influence of a sedative that steadily gaining dominance over his ability to stay coherent.

"I don't think you'd be able to, to be honest." She said as he reached for her wrist with an awkward grip, not unlike that of an eager child wanting to get someone's attention.

He suddenly had a fit of the giggles and gave a pained smile when it subsided enough for him to be able to speak again.

"... You're funny..."

"... Go to sleep, Jacky."

"... Kay..."

* * *

Claire was honestly surprised that it had taken Darkwing this long to arrive at the hospital after having been the one who brought Jacky in to the hospital to begin with.

No matter how much she explained to the Masked Mallard, Darkwing seemed adamant that Jacky was more than capable of interacting with him.

"You don't understand, Jacky isn't able to talk to you right now, he's resting."

"Ah-ha, so he  _has_  woken up from his little coma!" Darkwing said, perhaps a bit too loudly, waving a finger in the air. "I knew QuackerJack would bounce back, just like he always does!"

"... He has a  _head injury._ " Claire tried to be polite about it. She knew full well that Darkwing Duck was just doing his job, but it wasn't going to be helpful for Jacky at this time. "Jacky doesn't even remember anything that happened to him after he snapped at QuackWerks, and he doesn't remember the other night. He's very confused, and the only reason he knows anything about it is what he's been told or seen on TV."

Darkwing blinked awkwardly before he regained his composure.

"That's a little convenient that he'd forget just that particular chunk of time. A little  _too_  convenient, if you don't mind me saying." He said, trying to sneak a glimpse at the resting toy maker.

"I've seen the x-rays, I've been with him, I've seen him react to all this, and I'm totally convinced that he's telling the truth, he has no reason to lie to me." Claire reasoned, making sure to descretly prevent him from barging past her. "I know that there's a lot to be sorted out, but just leave him alone right now, he's been through enough, and he's sleeping off the pain and medication."

"QuackerJack's been known to be a little theatrical, milk it for all its worth, are you absolutely sure he's serious about all this?"

"I'm absolutely sure." She said flatly. "No doubt, he's very upset about this. He just doesn't remember the last four months."

"Im sure if I just get some one-on-one time with him, I could probably jog that memory of his!"

Darkwing's confidence was exhausting to Claire. No wonder he and Jacky always locked horns and had such spectacular little battles of wits and gadgets... Darkwing was almost as stubborn as the toy maker clown when it came to sticking with a task. Almost a perfect foil, if you will.

Claire heaved a weary sigh.

"It's not going to work. I've read the information they gave us about what to expect." She explained as carefully as she could. "He has retrograde amnesia. It's very localized, very unpredictable as to how long its going to last, and there's no way to actually trigger anything he's forgotten. His brain is injured, like actually physically damaged, and it needs to heal first. Trying to force anything to work when he can't process it is going to do more damage than it will to fix it."

"I think you're really underestimating how tough he is with-"

"And  _you're_  underestimating how serious this really is." She said over him, without raising her voice but with a level tone. "It's not about how tough he is, or how he's been able to recover quickly before. Jacky's had an accident, and he needs to be able to recover. You can't just come in here and force him to 'get it', he's just barely started to settle down from the shock of what he saw on the news report yesterday. He's very upset with himself."

"..." This seemed to have shut Darkwing up for a few seconds, and he visibly recollected his thoughts and said: "... Are you absolutely certain that he has no memory of the other day? That's going to be very difficult for him to convince those office workers who had to go through those hours of being his hostages. There's surveillance tapes of the whole incident, and he's going to have to go back to prison anyway. That's going to add to his sentence he was already serving,  _on top_  of him escaping a couple months ago. This isn't going to be a pretty case, Claire. Are you absolutely sure that he has no memory of any of this?"

"He insisted that he hasn't seen you since you disappeared a while back. He doesn't remember any of the confrontations in the last four months, and he insists that the last thing he remembers before he woke up here was that he was still working at QuackWerks. He's completely gobsmacked, it's a very genuine reaction that he had once we were able to get him to understand that he's been out of it for a while now." Claire said, mildly relieved that Darkwing was starting to follow this information now. "He's asleep right now, he's been put on some medication that's supposed to help keep him from developing a migraine disorder, and keep him from having any other complications. There's a whole packet to read, I could see if we can get a copy for you, if you want."

Darkwing managed to sneak a quick glance at the momentarily incapacitated clownish duck, and immediately noticed the distinctive bruising that had now settled in and visibly marred his skin under his feathers. Particularly, he noticed the large splotch of purple along the right side of QuackerJack's face, shoulder and collarbone, and Darkwing had to wonder if that was the point of impact.

"... So, he  _has_  been awake since the other night, then?" He said, mentally recalling just how battered of a state the unconscious toy maker had been in after Darkwing and his pilot companion had carefully loaded him into the back seat of his aircraft transportation. "He's been up and walking about, yes?"

"He's got a bit of a limp to his walk at the moment, but yes, he's been awake and conscious, if that's what you're asking." Claire said, looking back at Jacky, who shifted uncomfortably for a second in the bed before he settled back to sleep with a weak but contented sigh. "... He's almost exactly how I remember him, it's like he never left."

"Unfortunately, we can't guarantee if that's going to last, and the justice system is going to want to get ahold of him." Darkwing added, realizing exactly what sort of pickle they were in now. "This isn't the first time he's gone crazy, and it's not his first brush with the law, and he was on thin ice to begin with."

"... Can't you do anything to help get an easier sentence?"

"Lady, I only catch the criminals and get them put in a cell, I'm not the judge or jury."

"But, if anyone knows him well enough to argue his case and has enough influence in the system to get a good word in, it's gotta be you, right?"

"... I've been working  _against_  QuackerJack for years now, no one is going to believe that I suddenly-"

"Jacky. His name is 'Jacky'."

"... Right, of course.  _Jacky._ " Darkwing corrected himself with a bitter undertone, but it wasn't clear where the animosity was directed. "The point is,  _Jacky_  is going to have to answer to a whole host of questions and people who want nothing more than to see him locked up for his crimes. You've heard the news reports, haven't you? He threatened to run a lady through a  _paper shredder_  after he used the Molecular Digitizer on her. Those people are traumatized, and they want him to pay for it."

"... I could vouch for him, can't I?" Claire looked back at Darkwing. "I convinced you to help him, I know him, the real him, I can help, can't I?"

"You do know that he's got years of offenses against him, right? There's too many people who have been scarred by his actions, even before you met him." Darkwing shook his head, and folded his arms to adopt a more assertive stance. "What he's done to me alone is nuts, he's kidnapped my kid more than-" Darkwing suddenly stopped and it was obvious that he'd almost given away a bit of information that would have given a clue to his identity.

"... You hate him, don't you?"

"What?"

"It's what it really boils down to, doesn't it? You just don't like him." Claire didn't make eye contact. "I get it, really. But, I do. I like him. I quite like him."

"Look, I could tell you  _stories_  about what I've seen him do, I just-"

"He thinks highly of you, you know?" She added, almost desperately. "Apparently, you were his favorite 'playmate', he said that you were 'fair' and constantly wondered where you were this whole time you were gone."

Darkwing hesitated before responding.

"... Of course, he just thought it was all fun and games, I'm not surprised..."

"... You really don't know what QuackWerks did to him." Claire continued. "He really tried to do everything right, but... Everything just clashed. They wanted to stagnant him, really hold him back, and he never really fell in line like everyone else. Maybe he was just a little too smart for the system, he knew something was going on, and he fought back. He wasn't just an interesting person in the Toy Department, he was determined to not let them take away what made him unique, what was his  _character._  But, you really wouldn't know, you weren't around for the worst of QuackWerks."

"... Actually, I was."

"What?"

"What, you think this is who I am all the time? I have a life outside of crime fighting, you know?" Darkwing shrugged sheepishly. "I told you, I have a kid."

"... What? Are... Are you saying you were actually  _there?_ " Claire was a bit thrown for a loop, and honestly, the knowledge of this now was a bit disquieting. "You were there, you saw what was happening to St. Canard and... you didn't do  _anything?_ "

"I did what I had to!" Darkwing snapped back defensively, hands in the air. "I had to go into hiding to protect my family! You have no idea what I had to deal with! Do you think I actually  _enjoyed_  watching everything go on like Darkwing Duck had never been there, like they were better off anyway! People were even forgetting my name!"

"... Jacky didn't." Claire said calmly, which seemed to make Darkwing's hostility deflate rather quickly. "... He almost always had something positive to say about you. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume you were old friends. He was really hit hard when you disappeared... And he just knew that someone in particular had gotten to you."

"... Who?"

"He could never say. There was one name that always stirred such a bad reaction in him if he heard it or tried to say it, and he never managed to tell me directly." Claire shrugged sadly. "All I really know is he's the same one who 'killed' Mr. Banana Brain, and that he looks like you."

Darkwing Duck blinked, and it was immediately apparent that he knew exactly who was the culprit.

"Negaduck." He said under his breath, before smacking a fist to an open palm. "Of course, that makes too much sense. He'd definitely be cruel enough to do that..."

"... So, Jacky was right, then?"

"I don't know how he could have guessed, but yes, Negaduck was the main reason why I had to go into hiding." Darkwing nodded, suddenly looking serious. "Quacker-! Um, I mean, Jacky... Jacky was unfortunate enough to be under his 'employment' years ago, along with a few others of my adversaries. Negaduck is... well, simply put, he's a bully, the worst sort. It wasn't a secret that he was cruel and treated his underlings less than the dirt they were standing on. I wouldn't doubt that he'd have no qualms about ripping that little banana buddy away from Jacky, probably just to watch him squirm."

"... Goodness, I had no idea. Jacky was very quiet about all that, really." Claire was stunned. "It really hurt him, he was still grieving when I met him, in fact. It took a good while until he was able to really explain any of it without having a meltdown."

"Negaduck was-"

There was a squeak of discomfort that sounded behind them, and it became known that Jacky was sitting up in bed, slumped forward with a very groggy look in his eyes, which he was rubbing at with one hand, moaning like a fussy youngster who has been awakened rudely in the middle of the night. It was immediately obvious that he wasn't exactly awake, and his hand dropped to the bed heavily as he leaned forward, braced himself awkwardly, and then hung his head with a deep breath before snoring softly as his eyes drifted shut again.

The look Darkwing gave was halfway between confusion and pity.

"You know, speaking of Mr. Banana Brain, I'd like to have him back now." Claire said, catching the Masked Mallard off guard.

"Huh?"

"Well, since I paid for him and everything in that auction, that means I legally own him now." She said, biting back a small grin. "And I want to give him back to Jacky."

"... And how do you expect to explain to him that you've managed to get this doll back completely intact?" Darkwing said, begrudgingly rummaging through one of his many mysterious pockets before finally extracting the smiling doll and holding it out by the arm. "You said he doesn't remember anything that's happened in the last four months, that means that he doesn't remember his little pal being repaired either. As far as he knows, his doll is 'dead', and you said yourself that his memories probably won't be triggered so easily."

"I don't want to trigger his memories, I just want him to be reunited with his old friend." Claire said as she reached for the silly looking doll with the goofy little smile. "... He needs this."

She wasn't exactly sure what to expect at the moment, as she knew full well that Jacky was still inebriated from the medication, and it was very likely that he wouldn't actually be able to understand exactly what was happening.

She touched his left shoulder and the woozy duck opened his eyes unevenly, tilting his head sideways and unintentionally leaning to the right as he stared at her without actually seeing her.

It was about then that Darkwing realized that this was actually one of the first times he'd really noticed what QuackerJack looked like without his costume. "Thin" was the first word that sprung to mind, and not like "thin" as in "fit and trim", but "thin" as in "give this poor soul some decent food". Had he always looked like this? Maybe the puffy clown costume and frilled collar was more deceiving than Darkwing realized.

"Jacky, wouldn't it be easier to sleep if you were lying down?"

He looked in her direction with an unsteady gaze for a long time before finally speaking in a mumble.

"... Chicken pudding..."

"That's certainly a response." Claire stifled a small laugh. "But, not really relevant. There's someone who really wants to see you later, but you should rest for now."

"... M'kay..." Jacky didn't question anything about it, and simply dozed off again as she helped ease him into a more comfortable sleeping position.

"... What did you say they had him on, again?" Darkwing was rather surprised that QuackerJack hadn't so much as looked in his direction, and it was a little jarring to see the hyperactive clown be so sudued and docile.

"I didn't say. I just said that he was 'sleeping off the pain and medication'." Claire said earnestly, reaching for the paper packet on the side table, which was folded open to the page because she'd been reading it over before Darkwing had arrived. "... They put him on an anticonvulsant, you can read it right here, but, that's why he's all drowsy right now, it's a common side effect for the first several doses."

"...  _Anticonvulsant?_ " Darkwing felt like a bag of bricks had narrowly missed him. He blinked. "Are you saying he's been having  _seizures?_ "

"Oh, no, I hope not!" Claire said quickly, realizing that she should have elaborated further, as it certainly sounded like it was a misunderstanding. "It's mostly so he doesn't develop migraines, but apparently there's a very rare chance that he could get that until his brain heals. Actually, the physical prognosis looks pretty good, they said he's actually pretty lucky, because it could have been worse from that high of a fall."

"... Oof..." Was the noise Darkwing managed before he was able to collect his composure. "... So, he really doesn't remember the other night?"

"He knows what happened, he just doesn't remember doing any of it. He saw the news coverage, and knows that it's him in the surveillance footage, but he doesn't have any memory of being there. I don't think he even knows  _how_  he fell out the window."

"... How long is he going to be asleep?" Darkwing said, looking at the resting, drugged duck. "I'd like to come by again, when he's more alert."

* * *

That particular time of the day would be about five hours later, into the early hours of the evening, when the purpling sky was smeared with gorgeous reds and oranges as the sun sank behind the towering skyscrapers of St. Canard.

Darkwing was peering in through the observation window, having to stand on a chair, given his short stature. His daughter, Gosalyn, had tried so hard to convince him to bring her along, as she was very curious about what the toy clown looked like without his hat covering his face, but that daring dad of hers insisted otherwise, as he didn't want to risk either his identity, or do what equated to broadcasting her vulnerability as his kid.

She settled for him to simply bring her up to date on the info once he got home after the visit.

QuackerJack was still a little addled and weary from the med dosage that had begun to wear off, but he was certainly more coherent than he had been hours ago, and his tired eyes lit up as he smiled brightly upon recognizing that Claire was there.

"... Hi, Claire." He was sitting up in bed, and stole a glance at the window to the outside as the attending nurse shone a light in his eyes to test his ocular reflexes. "Ooh, the sky looks really pretty tonight, I like those colors. Those are nice."

"How are you feeling, Jacky? Any better?"

"... Everything hurts." He said before there was a sudden change in the manner of the physical exam as if responding to that statement, so he quickly elaborated as he pushed the hands away as the feathers on his shoulders and head prickled: "I meant the bruises! It's the  _bruises_  that hurt! Keep those cold probing fingers to yourself, lady!"

"It's important to take any complaint of discomfort with a serious approach right now, Mr. QuackerJack. We're concerned about any internal injuries that haven't been located yet, as well as any adverse effects the medication may have caused, particularly to your liver." The nurse explained calmly, swiping something across the duck's forehead that felt like smooth, cool metal and issued a beep when it was done.

"What's that thing for?"

"Taking your temperature, it's a lot more efficient than just sticking one of those old things under your tongue and waiting a few minutes." The nurse said, writing down the information. "We want to monitor your body temperature as well, it's very important, as a sudden drop could be a complication from the anticonvulsant."

"... Wow, fancy." Jacky said as a blood pressure cuff was fitted over his arm. "Oh, I know what this one is! I don't know what the name is, but I know how it works."

It seemed that his vitals checked out rather well, because there was no sense of alarm or concern, and Darkwing would probably admit later that it was a little amusing to see QuackerJack balk at the idea of having a blood sample taken from his arm for further testing, as it was followed by him having to be coaxed (more accurately: "bribed") with the promise of a candy sucker, which the clownish duck was then very disappointed to find it to have been "sugar-free", but he accepted it anyway, albeit with an air of feeling somewhat cheated.

"... Once they give the okay for me to have proper sweets, I want a whole mason jar full of jellybeans..." He grumbled, shoving the sucker in his mouth in the most unenthusiastic way. "... That, or cake."

"Well, I'm glad you're up now." Claire said as the nurse left to bring the blood sample to the lab. "Because, you've got a visitor that I'm sure you'll want to be awake for."

"... You're already here, but you're talking like you don't mean you, so I don't know anyone else who'd want to visit me that I'd be just as happy to see..." Jacky said slowly, taking another glance at the window.

"Oh, I think you're going to be pretty amazed at this one."

"... What, you managed to book Darkwing or something like that to drop in and say 'hello'?" He said flatly before snorting out a short laugh. "Gosh, wouldn't  _that_  be something? Could you imagine what he'd have to say if he-?"

Jacky didn't quite finish his sentence, as Claire held up something that immediately left him flabbergasted. His mouth hung open and the candy sucker caught on his lower teeth after almost falling out. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"... Jacky, close your mouth, you got candy in it."

"... Is... Is that... Cuh-Claire, how did you..?" He squeaked hoarsely, eyes wide in absolute disbelief. He reached out a shaky hand, and gently prodded the item in question, the feathers and downy fluff on his head and shoulders prickling and ruffling involuntarily in a completely physical reaction. "... No way... I thought..."

"It wasn't easy to find him, but someone had found all the parts and patched him up. Looks like he's been through the wringer, too." Claire explained, gently pushing the banana headed doll into his hands, which he had dropped to be on his lap. "Cost me a good bit, but I think it's worth it."

Jacky stared at the doll numbly, before bringing it eye level and staring at it as if inspecting it carefully. There was a tense half a minute as he slowly and cautiously sniffed it, and it seemed that the faint scent of old cedar sawdust had jarred something in his core, as his eyes immediately began to water and a tremor had settled in his jaw.

"... Jacky? Are you alright?" Claire was alarmed when she realized that he was breathing rather quickly, and the tremor in his jaw had spread to being a full body tremble. She put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a careful but firm shake, trying to snap him out of this trance. "Jacky, say something!"

"... Something..." He muttered before shifting his gaze to her and grinning brightly. "... I don't know how, but you found him." He wheezed out another breath and thick tears fell. "I... I don't know what to say, I just... Claire?" He reached his arms out for her and grabbed her in a squeeze of a hug. "Claire.  _Claire!_  I can't think of anything that could top this, there's  _nothing_  I can do for you that's going to be a better gift than this!"

"How about you just repay me by working on getting better?" She would have returned the embrace, if not for the fact that her arms were pinned to her sides as Jacky bounced in place and clung to her with all the enthusiasm of a kid having just learned that they were going to be able to skip school because of a surprise trip to the most amazing theme park ever.

She smiled as he let go of her and held up the doll to be eye level with her, both hands under either arm as he waved it around.

"Look at that, he's got stitches just like me!" Jacky's grin hadn't faded, and it was nice to see him so lively now. "Mr. Banana Brain and me are hospital buddies!"

There was a mildly amused noise that sounded off in the hall and had drifted through the ajar door, which made the excited battered duck swing his head towards the direction of the source curiously. Before Claire could ask him what was up, Jacky had already crossed the room before she realized it, and was now pressing his face and hands to the observation window (not unlike a youngster staring into a candy store) as he looked around for the culprit. He suddenly gasped and squealed with excitement, then shuffled just outside the door before he returned, dragging in a very confused looking Darkwing by the arm, chattering away a million miles a minute as his minor limping in his stride didn't seem to dampen his spirits, nor did his bruises. At some point, it seemed that he'd dropped his candy sucker, but he didn't pay it any mind.

"Oh my, I  _must_  have been a very good boy this year if  _you're_  here to visit me, Darkwing Duck! What brought you back to town, it's been too long, I'm sorry, I must look like an absolute mess, I had a bit of an accident but I'm supposed to be doing better, oh, I cannot  _wait_  for you to meet my girlfriend, I've told her so much about you and you're here now and I can't believe it, where have you been, I thought you were gone forever, wow, this is just fantastic, we have to catch up on things, I've been trying to be good, really, I think you'd love to hear all about it, Claire, this is Darkwing, Darkwing that's Claire!"

Darkwing blinked as he exchanged a glance with the lady duck after he was pushed forward.

"... I told you he could be sweet when he wants to be." Claire shrugged, giving a small smile.

Jacky was visibly confused before he understood the comment.

"... Oh. You've... already met..?" He said hesitantly, looking as though he'd been denied a chance to set up a presentation.

"Jacky, Darkwing was the one who brought you here, remember?" Claire said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder. "He was there when you were hurt, he was the one trying to talk you down. I asked him to help."

"... I don't remember that. You've told me, but, I don't remember it..." Jacky said quietly, sitting on the bed before bringing his feet up so he could wrap his arms around his knees and set his head down. "... I'm sorry, Darkwing, but I've... I-I'm having a hard time with my memory right now. I fell and hit my head, and now I don't remember at least the last four months. Apparently, that's the whole amount of time that I've been having a... an 'episode', and I've done something...  _bad._  You probably know already, why am I telling you..?"

The deflation of his prior excitement left him looking absolutely miserable. Darkwing was used to seeing QuackerJack swing quickly between moods, but it was usually with nearly astonishing levels of extremes. Here, the bruised toy maker just looked silently crestfallen.

It also occurred to Darkwing that QuackerJack was speaking with a sense of clarity, which was a far cry from the unstable and distracted jittery mess of a clown he'd been during the incident the other night at the Whiffle Boy Entertainment office. It was honestly a little jarring to hear QuackerJack without that infamous underlying giggle that had been present in his voice over the years, and the only time Darkwing could actively recall such a time where it had dropped was when the poor clown had clung to him and begged for his help after the pair of them had been trapped in a pocket dimension residing in a cursed jack-in-the-box.

"... I don't expect you to believe me." Jacky added, eyes locked to the floor. "I mean, I had trouble believing this happened too, but... for what it's worth, I'm willing to cooperate. I don't remember anything, but I'll take the sentence if it's the right thing to do."

This was met with more silence from Darkwing, who had yet to speak since being pulled into the room, and Jacky became painfully aware of that. In fact, it stirred up a sense of anxiety in him that made his stomach feel a little sick at the thought of it.

"... Darkwing, at least have the decency to talk to me,  _please._ " Jacky lifted his head and stared at him with a look of discomfort, gesturing wildly as the anxiety snowballed into panic. "I know I messed up bad, but I didn't mean to, really! I was working in the  _Toy Department_  at QuackWerks, do you really think I'd mess that up on purpose! I'm not saying that I  _didn't_  do all that stuff, I'm saying that I don't remember doing any of it! I hurt my brain, Darkwing! I don't remember anything about the other night or anything in the last four months! It's all blank, do you understand!  _I just have to know if you understand that!_ "

"Yes." Was the simple response from the Masked Mallard.

"... That was easy. That was too easy. I don't like that, I don't like that at all..." Jacky mumbled nervously, sliding off the bed to stand so he could look at Darkwing head on. He shook his head. "I don't think you get it, I said that my brain was hurt, Darkwing. I have amnesia, and I... I feel dizzy, why am I dizzy..?" He blinked and crossed his eyes in confusion, frowning as he put a hand over one of his eyes in an attempt to clear his sight. "... I think I stood up too fast... I'm woozy..."

"Should I get someone?" Claire said with a little bit of alarm in her voice, putting a hand on his arm. He stared at her distantly, visibly disoriented. "Jacky? Do you want me to find the nurse?"

"... Kinda..?" He seemed very unsure of himself, and it wasn't hard to see that he was subtley rocking in place. "... I'm not sure if it's because I'm freaking out, or getting too worked up, or if something is actually wrong..."

"You want me to do that just in case?"

Jacky hesitated before nodding slowly.

"... Doesn't hurt to be sure." He said, smiling weakly, placing a hand on the bed to steady himself. "They  _did_  say that they take any complaint of discomfort seriously, y'know..."

The visitor chair was scooted in his direction, and he gratefully took it, as it would have taken too much effort to crawl onto the bed again. He scrabbled his hand across the top of the bed until he felt familiar fabric, and quickly dragged Mr. Banana Brain into his arms as he watched Claire leave, then brought his attention back to Darkwing Duck, who seemed to be at a loss of what to say about the situation.

"... Soooooo, Darkwing." Jacky broke the silence, kicking his feet idly. "What happened to you? You disappeared for a long time, and just left us all here in St. Canard."

Darkwing wasn't sure what threw him for a loop more: QuackerJack speaking to him civilly like he was an old friend, or QuackerJack speaking to him without so much as pawing at him in his weirdly "playful" manner, as what had been such the norm so long ago whenever the clown had managed to get close enough to count the stitches on his hat.

He scratched at his head feathers awkwardly before finally speaking again, picking his words carefully.

"... Got run out of town by Negaduck."

Jacky's face visibly drained of color and he tightend his arms around the doll unconsciously. He stopped kicking his feet, and the expression that had crossed his face was not unlike the sort of face one would have if a shark fin had broke the surface of the calm water around them.

"... I was afraid of that..." He said in voice that sounded like his throat had constricted painfully. "... He hurt Mr. Banana Brain, y'know? Broke him to pieces, threw them in my face. It hurt. But, I guess someone must have fixed him, because I got him back now." He sniffled, and it was obvious that the sting of that event was rising to the surface again. Jacky huffed a deep breath as if to banish the thought and forced a smile back on his face while laughing feebly. "Oh, man, I just realized, you've finally got to see me without my hat. How funny is that?"

"... Hilarious." Darkwing said dryly, before he shifted his stance and leaned against the bedframe subtley.

"... You don't sound like you find that hilarious."

"QuackerJack, do you fully understand the sort of mess you are in right now?"

"Well, of course, I'm not an idiot." Jacky said, giving an unamused look, going as far as to stick his tongue out. "I might have a brain injury, but I'm still a clever ducky. I think it's all terrible, I can't believe I did all that, but I saw the news reports and that's definitely me, I'm not denying it."

In all his time of knowing QuackerJack, Darkwing Duck had never known the crazy toy maker to ever take responsibility for his own actions, and it was more common for him to push the blame elsewhere, anywhere, anyone but himself, often to the point of throwing a hissy fit over it. Claire must have certainly been a good influence on him, no doubt.

Claire returned with the nurse before the conversation went further.

"So, Mr. QuackerJack, you said you were feeling a little woozy?" Said the nurse as she pulled out a pen light.

"... Just a little. I'm fine otherwise, I think I may have stood up too fast, that's all, but you  _did_  say you take complaints seriously." Jacky said as a light was shone in his eyes again for the umpteenth time, while he followed it. "Can I have another sucker? I kinda dropped the last one on the floor."

"Not a problem, I can get you another one." The nurse said. "Let me just take your blood pressure and temperature again. Any other issues you might be having right now?"

"Nope." Jacky said in a matter-of-fact tone as his vitals were checked yet again. "Aside from the fact that the candy doesn't have any real sugar in it. Kinda sleazy if you ask me."

" _Jacky._ " There was a warning tone in Claire's voice.

"What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking, don't 'Jacky' me, you know I'm right. How can you make candy without sugar?"

"And yet, you're still asking for another one."

"It's the only candy I'm allowed right now, of course I'm taking it."

* * *

The following day, Claire would find Jacky sitting on the bed, legs crossed, leaning forward with a hand on his ankle as he held the television remote in his other hand, staring intently at the screen. He seemed to have not bothered to have the shades drawn back, as the room was admittedly darker than it should be for late morning, and the main source of light was the flickering of the TV screen and a single side table lamp.

His head turned towards her direction quickly the moment she shut the door, and he shot his gaze between her and the TV as if trying to find an explanation as to what he was doing, though honestly it wasn't really needed.

"Jacky, how are you feeling today?" Claire didn't seem to acknowledge his odd behavior, perhaps because she was used to it and was silently relieved that he was acting more like himself than he had been for the past few days (or rather, months). She crossed the room to the window and pulled the shades back, letting more light in, then she switched off the lamp. "Sleep well?"

"... I guess." He shrugged, looking back at the TV. "I'm still all bruised up, so I'm still pretty sore, and I can't really tell if I'm actually tired or if it's just the ouchies making me feel tired."

"To be fair, these last few days have probably been a bit exhausting for you."

"Yeah, no kidding." Jacky snorted weakly. He blinked and added: "... The news coverage is on quite a few channels already. I think everyone in Calisota knows what I did now, except me, of course."

"Maybe you should stay away from those channels for a bit, it's probably not good on you emotionally." Claire suggested, while carefully tugging the remote from Jacky's hands, which he didn't do much to protest.

"... I keep hoping maybe I could trigger something, maybe jar it back in my brain, so then maybe I can figure out why I did all that..." He said quietly, continuing to look at the screen as Claire cycled through the channels for something not so news related. "... It's all really terrible stuff, looks like. I just don't understand how I can be able to  _do_  something that complicated without any memory of it, let alone be able to for  _months._ "

"You fell out of a third story window and hit your head. The memory loss is most likely from that, or it could be because of something else, or maybe both of those." Claire knew that her answer wasn't going to satiate his desire to find out, but she felt like she could at least be able to offer a plausibility that he could latch to until (or if) it was found. "Frankly, I'm impressed that you're up and about barely three days after such an accident, it could have been a way worse outcome, especially since you landed on your head."

"... Guess I've just got a thick skull, then." He quipped, snorting again but with more enthusiasm than the last time.

Claire paused on a channel running a cartoon about wacky colorful sea critters, and looked at Jacky, who was now pawing idly at the "peels" on Mr. Banana Brain's head. As far as she knew, he hadn't let the doll out of his sight since thier reunion yesterday, and she had no doubt that Jacky had slept soundly that night, knowing that his little banana buddy was where he belonged.

Jacky looked up at her, noticing that her attention was away from the TV, and he smiled that smile that he usually kept for her. Despite the bruises, stitches and scrapes, it was still her Jacky, and she was glad to have him back after these last few months of uncertain chaos.

"... I wonder if they'll let me go outside today." Jacky said suddenly, glancing out the window. "It looks nice out, and I can see a courtyard down there, there's benches and trees, like a park."

"I guess we could ask, but we should wait at least until after your check up today, you know that those meds wipe you out for the afternoon."

"Aw, but afternoon is when the sunshine is the best." Jacky crinkled his beak in disappointment. "I don't like this, I don't like being cooped up, and I really just don't like being so out of it..."

"I know, but we need to follow these rules so you can get better."

"And 'get better' doesn't necessarily mean that I get my missing memory back, just that I'm physically capable of being sent out of here." Jacky said nonchalantly. "Not that I'm complaining too much about that, but I wish I'd be able to have a better thing to tell people than 'I don't know' if I get asked about that incident, because you know people are going to ask me. What do I say to that?"

"You're worrying too much about something that won't be a problem for good while." Claire said, taking a seat beside him on the bed. "I really don't know, Jacky."

"... What if I don't get my memory back?"

"Then you don't, I guess."

"Claire, I'm serious."

"I know. I'm just saying that you don't have to force yourself to get it back. In fact, it's probably more likely that you won't be able to, so you're just stressing over something that might not even happen."

"But what  _is_  going to happen is that I have to still have to answer for all that." Jacky sounded exasperated, and Claire couldn't really blame him. "Who's going to believe that I just conveniently got bonked on the noggin and lost all memory of the whole four months that I spent doing...  _whatever_  I was doing?"

"Me."

There was a silence that greeted that response. Claire looked at him again, and saw that he was staring intently at Mr. Banana Brain, whom he was holding under the arms with both hands.

He lowered the doll and looked back at her again.

"... Claire? During those four months... I didn't do any of that to  _you_ , did I?"

"... Hmm?"

"The stuff that they're saying I did. I didn't do anything like that to you, did I?" Jacky reiterated with a bit of desperation in his tone.

"Oh, no, no of course not!" Claire reassured him quickly, realizing that this was probably something he could have been wondering for days and had yet to actually voice it until now. "I did find you at one point not too long after you'd disappeared, but you were so scared and confused when you saw me that you ran away. It was like you didn't want me to see you that way, to be honest."

"... I don't remember that."

"You were with this guy that looked like plant and didn't seem like he wanted to really be near you either."

"... Oh my goodness, that's Bushroot, what in the world did I do to him, we weren't exactly on the best of terms all the time, but I wouldn't think that I'd-!"

"Jacky. Jacky! It's fine, you're fine right now."

"You don't understand, I was the  _normal_  one on that team. Megs' got that electricity thing, Bushroot controls plants, and Liquidator  _is_  water. How could I have been able to overpower any of them, I don't have any special skills beyond toy making or really good agility, but that's not exactly intimidating to someone who could string me up by the foot with a vine in a second." Jacky was certainly distressed at the idea. "I mean, I definitely teased and messed around with them, but I don't think I could have ever actually intimidated them..."

"Jacky, I know this is all scary and all that for you, but it's not going to help to just speculate if you aren't actually sure." Claire said carefully, putting her hands on his shoulders as he stared at her with wide eyed apprehension. "We really don't want someone to misunderstand that as a possible memory when it isn't, so, while I do understand that it's upsetting for you and you want answers, I don't have the answers and I definitely don't want to feel like I'm misleading you. You get that, right?"

"... Yeah, Claire..." Jacky said quietly, looking back at Mr. Banana Brain with half closed eyes. "... Okay, I do..."

 


	3. Chapter 3

It became apparent that week that there was certain triggering things that was difficult to avoid with Jacky. Perhaps most notable was the visceral reaction he had to hearing the distant sound of a landscaping device being started with several rough yanks of a pull cord, the noise having drifted through an open window.

The reaction had happened so gradually, that wasn't immediately noticed. Claire later felt guilty for missing the early onset warning signs, and she supposed that she should have noticed the sudden silence from Jacky.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and they were in the hospital Cafe, and she had been using highlighters to mark important things to note on one of those stapled packet of papers, and was color coding the suggested foods for Jacky to eat, in order to have a better list of what he liked and didn't like from the selection, and what was absolutely necessary despite his aversion to it. She was vaguely aware of the scent of cut grass lightly perfuming the air thanks to a soft breeze through the window, and she didn't immediately connect that the noise was a lawnmower.

She looked up after a while, and realized that Jacky was staring at the half eaten tuna sandwich on the plate in front of him with a wide eyed, distant gaze. Then she realized his face looked as though he'd seen a ghost, and he was holding onto the edges of table with shaky hands, as well as standing halfway out of his chair, as if preparing to suddenly run. It astounded her that she hadn't even heard him wheezing until just now, and there was so much trembling tension in his thin frame that she wondered if his muscles had locked up completely in the process.

But, it didn't take her as long to realize that he was likely having a panic attack.

" _Jacky!_ " Claire quickly discarded the highlighter in her hand with a toss, and rushed to the other side of the table. It wouldn't be until much later that she'd learn that the trigger had been the sound of a gas powered landscaping tool (as Jacky had developed a fear of chainsaws years prior during his employment under his previous "boss"), but from what she knew about it, she couldn't blame him for reacting so viscerally.

As it would turn out, having a panic attack in a hospital cafe while surrounded by no less than five registered nurses during thier lunch break was probably a good place to have such a problem, as they were very well trained on the subject and able to help ease Jacky into a calmer state of mind far more efficiently than Claire could have on her own (and she made sure to take notes on that).

Of course, once he was aware that he was currently the source of commotion in the center of the cafe (now that he'd been calmed down to a more milder state of uneasiness and able to think more clearly), a vermillion shade of blush spread across his face and under his pale plumage almost instantly, and he mumbled half-hearted words of gratitude in an attempt to ward them away and push the attention away from himself.

Claire could tell that he was embarrassed, and the subtle tugging at her hand once he reached for it, along with a glance that desperately said "Get me out of here..." strengthened that notion.

There was some insistence on some the nurses' part that he should either remain seated for a little while longer, or at the very least he could be escorted to his room via wheelchair. He declined repeatedly, insisting that he could use his own legs just fine, and the offers were rather unnecessary anyway. Truth be told, Jacky did not want to be the center of attention, and this was all doing the exact opposite of what he wanted.

He continued to tug at her hand, and it seemed like they just couldn't get out of the cafe fast enough for his liking. He almost declined having what was left on his plate put in a styrofoam container, but accepted the offer out of being polite, and muttered a quiet "... Thank you..." as he shuffled awkwardly into the hall corridor.

"I'll carry that for you, Jacky." Claire said as she took the container from him. Truth be told, he looked as though his grip on the container could slip at any second, as he still looked a bit shaken from experience from about ten minutes ago. "Are you alright now?"

There was a pause before he shook his head slowly with a soft whimper.

"... N-No..." There was a stutter to his voice as he glanced around as if expecting something terrible was going to happen. "... You heard th-that, didn't you..?"

"Heard what?"

Jacky did his best to imitate the sound in question (and gesturing feverishly to emphasize), and while he was several pitches off, it was fairly clear what he was trying to describe, as he just couldn't seem to get the words right; it was arguable if it was due to how nervous he was, or maybe it was because his brain was still healing and he was stricken with a mild form of dysphasia as well.

"... The lawnmower?"

Jacky looked like he could have kicked himself once that information registered completely.

" _Lawnmower?_ " He managed in a choked voice, clearly upset with himself for his reaction. He blinked a few times in shock, shook his head and added with slightly less hoarse tone. "... That was a  _lawnmower?_ "

"I think so, there's some yard work going on outside right now." Claire was trying carefully to not brush off why Jacky was clearly upset with the noise. She didn't know exactly why it had unnerved him, but she could tell that whatever panic that he'd felt at the sound had been extremely frightening and real to him, and she just didn't want him to feel like the situation wasn't being taken seriously. "... Is everything alright?"

"No! No! Nothing is alright, I'm an absolute twisted up mess of nerves and I hate it here and I want to go home!" Jacky suddenly exploded, stomping his foot on the linoleum tile, balling his hands up tightly at his sides. "I keep getting poked or prodded at and they keep shining lights in my eyes and I've been here for two weeks, I can't eat what I really want to eat, everything has to be monitored, and I still don't remember anything about those four months, and now I'm freaking out over a  _lawnmower!_ "

Claire was honestly a bit surprised that it had taken Jacky this long to lose his composure. He'd been unbearably patient with everything during the entire week, to the point that he was becoming more and more quiet as the days passed, and she knew him well enough to know that increasing silence on his part meant that an emotional storm had been brewing under the surface for some time.

That, and the fact that irritability and other forms of emotional instability were expected to be direct results of his brain injury (among other reasons), which was compounded with his preexisting social difficulties. Simply put; his capacity for properly handling his emotions was very thin and tiresome to himself, and meltdowns were bound to happen.

Claire waited patiently for him to peter out, and listened to his words as he continued to rant about how frustrated he was that such a simple noise had thrown him into a panic, and that the reasoning as to why was quite honestly one thing he'd prefer to have had wiped from his memory than that mysterious four month chunk that he had no recollection of.

His hands reached for the bandages that covered the stitches on his head as he shouted: "And I'm sick of these stupid things, I want my hat back, it's not the same, it's just not the same!"

Of course, Claire's hands caught his hands before he could tug off the adhesive strips from the gauze, as this was not the first time he'd attempted to do so, and certainly it likely wasn't going to be the last. Jacky sputtered to a stop and blinked, then rolled his eyes from side to side to look around slowly with a frown, as if he just realized where he was after he finished his rant.

He huffed through his nostrils for a moment and added in a forcibly calm tone: "... I need to check on Mr. Banana Brain."

The doll in question had been left in the room where he was staying, and it had been difficult enough to assure him that his banana buddy was perfectly safe in said room to begin with. This was because toting the plush around his daily venturing of the hospital was not advised on account of the third day after they'd been reunited, Jacky had unintentionally set Mr. Banana Brain down in one of the waiting rooms after getting distracted during an examination gauging how his motor skills were affected by his head injury, and nearly had a screaming conniption, thinking he'd lost his doll once again by his own negligence.

"Is everything okay, Jacky?"

"... I just... A-a-are you sure that was just a lawnmower?" The tension he seemed to be holding in his frame appeared to dissolve and he suddenly seemed so meek as he stole a glance at an adjacent window, as if to try to confirm for himself. "... It sounded like a... oooh, I hate that noise, I hate that noise..."

Of course, Claire had no idea why Jacky would be reacting so negatively to a landscaping device, and she could have sworn that he'd been perfectly fine on occasions before back home involving a lawnmower making a noise, but the littlest thought in the back of her mind chimed in to trivially point out that the lawnmower at her place of residence was electric and not gas powered. She did not make the connection right away, and briefly wondered if his apprehension was just a confused physical response because he had a known difficulty in sorting his emotions.

"... I need to check on Mr. Banana Brain..." He repeated a little more urgently, pulling back against the light grip Claire had on his hands, and trying to make his way towards the elevator. "Claire, I need to check on Mr. Banana Brain, I need to check on him, Claire..."

"Well, okay, we'll do that, but are you sure you're alright? You're still shaking." Claire's voice remained calm in spite of Jacky's rising panic, but she was confused as to why this was suddenly a priority for him, as well why he was so tense and agitated. "Why do you think you need to check on Mr. Banana Brain? Is everything alright?"

The general idea behind her questions was to help calm him down and urge him to talk about what was on his mind. His concern for the doll was clearly linked to his emotional response to the sound of the lawnmower, and Claire briefly wondered if perhaps Mr. Banana Brain had been subjected to being run over by a lawnmower in front of Jacky, as the patches and stitches in the doll's current state indicated that it had been torn to pieces at one point (a fact that she was very much aware of, as he'd more than once explained in the past about the fate of the doll).

"I just need-! Claire, I have to check on him, he's by himself, I need to go see him! He's all alone!"

It was clear that he wasn't going to be settled until he frantic request was granted, and every second wasted waiting to do it was just going to feed into that panic. Even if he was rationally aware that Mr. Banana Brain was just a doll; his emotional attachment was far less rational, and he legitimately worried for the doll's well-being as one would an old friend.

Not many people understood that concept, unfortunately.

"Okay, Jacky, we'll go check on him." Claire said finally, stepping towards the elevator with him once he tugged at her hands one more time. "How are you feeling right now? Are you going to be alright?"

"... To be honest, the air feels a bit thick, kinda tough to breathe right..."

"Try breathing like I'm doing, maybe that'll help."

"... M'kay..." Jacky mumbled quietly, slipping his hands from Claire's and snaking his limbs around her left arm so he could put his head on her shoulder as they waited for the elevator to reach thier floor. "... Mr. Banana Brain hasn't said anything at all..." He added as if it were an afterthought to all that was happening at the moment.

"Hmm?"

"... I just can't get the voice right." He said between slow and careful inhales, having matched with her pace. "It keeps coming out wrong..."

The elevator chimed and the doors opened as the pair stepped aside to let the current occupants walk out, then they entered. Claire pressed the button for the floor they wanted, and felt Jacky shift his balance and his weight against her as the elevator car lurched upward.

"... I've never had a problem making him talk before..." Jacky continued quietly. "... It's always been so easy, I just had to pick him up and the voice came to my mouth as naturally as my own..."

"Jacky, you're recovering from a head injury, I wouldn't be surprised if you just need some more time before you can do that again." Claire tried to be reassuring, but she knew that the best she could offer was a hopeful speculation. "Just let yourself and your brain rest for now, and don't force it."

"... What's the point, my job doesn't exist anymore and I'm probably going to be locked up once I'm all better, so I'm not really in a hurry for that anyway..." Jacky grunted with a bite of bitterness under his tone, which momentarily stunned Claire, as it was such an unexpected mood swing. "... I don't even know how they're going to put together a fair jury, everyone in St. Canard likely hates me, there's no way..."

"Oh, now that's just an exaggeration, not  _everyone._ " Claire was able to respond quickly enough after regaining her composure. "What do you want to do right after we check on Mr. Banana Brain? It's still early in the afternoon."

"... I think I want to lie down for a bit, my head feels sore..."

The elevator came to a stop and chimed again as it opened the doors. Jacky visibly flinched at the noise and sudden change of spacial orientation as gravity seemingly lessened and he nearly lost his footing when it did.

"You have a headache? How bad?"

"It's not horrible, it's just feels a little sore right about here..." He gestured to his forehead awkwardly as they stepped out of the elevator. "... It's really more like it's dizzy and... well, I want to say it's like if you get a dry fishbowl and drop a marble in it and shake it until it's rolling around the inside, does that make sense?"

Claire honestly tried to find a correlation between that mental image and how it was supposed to feel, and all she could figure was that it meant that it was disorienting and loud.

"I think so. Do you mean like a tilt-a-whirl sort of feeling?"

Surprisingly, Jacky snorted and chuckled under his breath.

"No, silly,  _that's_  how those pills feel." He said in a tired but playful voice, before cringing again as it became rather clear that his headache was somewhat distracting.

They walked to his room and Claire made sure to take extra care in opening the door to be sure that the loud clicking latch and creaking noise of the hydraulic mechanism that ensured that it closed on its own, didn't make enough noise to agitate his discomfort further. Perhaps he noticed, perhaps he didnt, but he was certainly grateful to finally be in the sanctity of his temporary residence.

She helped him climb onto the bed, and he didn't waste any time in snatching up Mr. Banana Brain, curling up on top the covers, and wrapping the doll up in his arms, pressing his face into the fabric, breathing in the familiar faint scent of cedar sawdust as if it were sweet, sweet aromatherapy. He was considerably calmer than he had been five minutes ago, but the calm in his features was paired with weariness, the same sort of fatigue Claire had seen cross him oh so briefly during her visit to him while he'd been incarcerated for his reckless escapades through town after he'd snapped. The same tired look that broke through the insanity and brought her "Jacky" to the surface before that panic and confusion had engulfed him as he was dragged away, reaching and screaming out for her.

"... Well, that was physically exhausting..." He finally mumbled as he stretched his limbs before settling into a less tense position, tilting his head in her direction to look at her more clearly as he clasped his hands together and pinned the doll to his chest under his arms. "... Body's all tired, but my brain is going a million miles a minute..."

"So, what do you want to do now that we're here?"

"... We don't have to 'do' anything, we could just... do nothing." Jacky said, shrugging half-heartedly. He smiled and scooted across the bed in a sort of exhausted inchworm fashion. "They have cable here, we could find a daytime movie or something, it's going to be a while until they have to check my vitals again, we got time to just mill around."

Of course, it goes without saying that not long after they settled into the idea and got comfortable together, Jacky fell asleep for a good two hours, likely because the whole ordeal about the lawnmower had been quite exhausting.

No matter, however. He seemed perfectly content now to lean into her, head on her shoulder, and Mr. Banana Brain tucked into the crook of his arm.

Goodness knows he needed to rest.

* * *

It was a weekday, and that meant that Claire couldn't come by until the evening, as she of course had a job in order to continue to be able to have funds. Jacky didn't bother to ask what the job could possibly be now that QuackWerks had dissolved, as it didn't see to have crossed his mind to do so, but he did know that that meant that he had to wait to see her later in the day.

He did not like that.

On this particular day (a Tuesday, I believe), he had a visitor in the form of Darkwing Duck, who was currently pushing a rolling media cart with a chunky boxy looking television monitor (almost archaic compared to what was available now) sitting atop the cart, and a VCR on the shelf below it.

Jacky blinked as it was pushed right in front of the bed he was sitting on. It had the unmistakable purplish colors that would easily have been identifiable on any of Darkwing's gadgets and machinery.

"... There's already a TV over there." QuackerJack said without missing a beat, pointing to the mounted screen in the corner.

Darkwing held a video cassette in his hand, waving it above his head. QuackerJack leaned forward and glimpsed a few more tapes on a lower shelf on the cart.

"Wow, Darkwing, tube television set? Tapes and tape player? That's some real vintage formats, really bringing out the nostalgia, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately, it was the only format I could get ahold of that was compatible with my... unique tech."

"It's alright if you're a bit behind on the technology, Darkwing, I like the old stuff anyway. Classic."

"It's not old, it's a unique piece of custom, superior-!" Darkwing snapped back before inhaling sharply and regaining his composure with a big, forced grin that did not seem at all calm. QuackerJack leaned backwards away from him with a mildly concerned look he gave at the expression. "Alright, QuackerJack, what I have here is a collection of footage of various sightings of you during your four months' long episode through the city."

QuackerJack's mildly concerned expression turned into one of full blown apprehension.

"... I don't want to see that again." He shook his head. "I already saw the footage on the news of when I-"

"Do you really think they'd show the complete unadulterated footage on a daytime time slot? It's cut and edited to fit for time, with the most important and interesting segments brought to the attention, while adjusted to be allowed."

"Now, why did you have to go and tell me that? As if this already didn't look as bad as it did, now you had to tell me that that wasn't even the worst of it?" QuackerJack incredulous tone of voice had reached a high pitch and escaped him like a squawk. "Why? Why would you do that? It's not very nice at all!"

"Because, QuackerJack-!"

"Jacky." QuackerJack corrected him with a bit of a biting edge to his voice.

"I'm still getting used to that, cut me a break." Darkwing said under his breath before clearing his throat and speaking louder. "Because,  _Jacky_ , do you really think you could get away with the defense of 'I don't remember'? Who's going to believe that?"

"... Do you?"

"What?"

"Do  _you_  believe me?"

Perhaps he hadn't expected to be questioned like that, but Darkwing had stopped talking momentarily and stared.

"... I'm not making it up, Darkwing." QuackerJack said quietly, fidgeting anxiously. "... I really don't remember anything about what I did. I know what I've been told, but I don't have any memory of  _doing_ any of that."

"I'm just saying, it's oddly convenient that not only did you get amnesia, but it's localized the exact events that are the problem here."

"Oh,  _I'm sorry_ , I'll be sure to land on the other side of my face next time I fall out of a third story window, nevermind that it's incredibly lucky that I didn't snap my  _neck_  after slamming into the pavement. My mistake, I must have landed the wrong way, I'm clearly faking this."

"... Well, at least your dry wit is still intact."

"Yeah, because  _that's_  what important here. My sarcasm. Thanks, thank you so much."

"Alright, alright, you don't have to be so defensive about it."

"I am  _not being defensive!_ " QuackerJack shouted as he slammed his hands down on the bed, which resounded a very unsatisfying  **FWOMP!**  as he did. "You come in here, dragging along some old television on some screechy metal cart with a box of tapes all about what I did that I don't remember at all, and you did not once even tell me 'Hello', you haven't even bothered to ask me about how I feel about all this. Do you think I  _want_  to be here! Do you know what it's like to suddenly find out everything is four months later? I was actually starting to do good with myself, and this happens and I'm all scrawny again, and I had a job, I had an actual job where I made things and I was getting paid, do you really think I'd set up all this just so I could ruin everything for myself?"

"I never said-"

"No, you haven't, and you haven't said otherwise either!"

"I don't know if you've cared to notice, but I am  _trying_  to help you!" Darkwing snapped back, patience worn very thin, and perhaps it was that statement that made QuackerJack freeze in mid rant as he threw one of the VHS tapes to the floor, causing the casing to chip and pieces of plastic to scatter across the floor as it split open on impact. "Why do you think I'd be here if I haven't tried to cart you back to the penitentiary by now! I have been trying to help you since I was asked to by Claire during the whole incident that got you injured to begin with! This whole thing is your own fault, all you had to do was come down off your little ego trip and  _listen_  to me, but no, you had to have those servers dragged up to the third floor of the building and-! And... Oh... Ooooh..."

Darkwing had sputtered to a stop once he realized his words wouldn't really make much sense to QuackerJack, a notion that was solidified by the wide eyed stare he gave Darkwing, mouth slowly closing to where his teeth weren't visible. There was honestly something mildly unsettling about QuackerJack staring at him like that, and Darkwing couldn't quite decide if it was because he was used to the toy maker to responding almost immediately with a playfully snide comment, or if it was because the expression he was giving Darkwing was not unlike that of a scolded child.

Considering the fact that Darkwing had smashed a VHS tape on the floor in a momentary fluster of frustration, it was likely that the sudden and loud negative feedback had stunned QuackerJack out of his surly response, and Darkwing had to admit that he had momentarily forgotten that he was dealing with someone who was recovering from a head injury and brain trauma, particularly one who wasn't likely to even recall the events on the tapes to begin with.

QuackerJack blinked a few times, looked at the remains of the VHS tape on the floor silently, then carefully reached under his pillow to grab Mr. Banana Brain by the hand, slid off the bed, and calmly walked to the door of the room.

Darkwing noticed that the limp QuackerJack had had earlier in the month had certainly improved, but there was still a visible difficulty in how he carried himself because of said limp. Nevertheless, QuackerJack still crossed the room, and without another word, he pulled the door open and stepped into the corridor. Through the observation window, Darkwing could see him step to the chairs lining the area below the window, and disappear from sight as he sat down.

Darkwing paused before looking at the video tape he had thrown to the floor, and cringed at seeing the pieces that had scattered. There was no way to salvage that particular tape, but at least he'd had the foresight to have left the master copies back at his base of operations, so all was not lost.

Darkwing stepped out into the corridor as well and, as expected, QuackerJack was sitting in one of the chairs under the window, legs drawn up to where he had his arms folded on his knees and his head resting on top of them. QuackerJack glanced at him, still holding the same expression he had when he left the room.

"... I'm sitting out here until Claire comes back." He said quietly. "... I told you, I don't remember anything. You didn't have to yell like that..."

"Alright, so maybe I overreacted just a teensy bit."

"You smashed a VHS on the floor. That's probably more than a 'teensy bit'. There's plastic bits and tape everywhere."

"Okay, I admit it, that was a little out of line." Darkwing sat down in a chair that was a couple seats away.

"What was even the point of bringing those things anyway? Don't you know that it's not going to trigger my memory back any faster?"

"Well, I suppose I was more or less testing-"

"I don't believe this!" QuackerJack shouted incredulously, throwing his hands in the air. "It's been a  _month_  and I still don't think you understand what's wrong with my brain! You said you were there, you were the one who brought me here, you saw me get hurt, how is it that you don't get it! I thought you were a detective, man, aren't you supposed to be smart!"

"Okay, now I think  _you're_  overreacting just a bit."

" _I'm overreacting?_  I'm not the one who threw a video cassette on the floor and broke it. I told you, I don't want to watch any of that right now. I am not going to look at any of those tapes without Claire here." QuackerJack huffed. "You're cornering me, that's what you're doing, you know? Cornering me."

"It's just that... I've seen you bounce back from falls and hits before." Darkwing said, shrugging a little. "I don't get how this one time you just land wrong."

"... Did you push me out the window?" QuackerJack said suddenly, which made Darkwing flinch at the change in tone, which was almost accusing. "You were there, you brought me here,  _did you push me, and that's why you're here now, are you trying to get your story straight?_ "

"What? No!" Darkwing was a bit stunned by the accusation. "I couldn't have because I was tied down! I wouldn't have, either!"

"Then how did I fall out of a third story window of a business building if the glass is supposed to be reinforced and shouldn't be that easy to fall out of!" QuackerJack shouted. "Do you really think I wouldn't have considered all those little factors? You were there, Darkwing, how did I fall out of a third story window!"

"Why don't you ask  _him!_ " Darkwing pointed to Mr. Banana Brain, much to QuackerJack's initial confusion at the statement. "He was there, too, along with the replacement you made! Maybe you should ask him because he knows more about that than I do!"

QuackerJack was absolutely silent as he stared at Darkwing with wide eyes, clearly struggling to process this information. He frowned, then looked at the doll in his hands, then back at Darkwing.

"... There's only one Mr. Banana Brain." He muttered, rolling his eyes. "... He's a doll, Darkwing, he doesn't talk unless I make him, and he hasn't spoken all month." He heaved an annoyed sigh through his nostrils. "If you're not going to be serious about this, I don't know why I'm even bothering."

"If you'd just watch the tapes, you'll know what I'm talking about." Darkwing said in a low voice, obviously losing his patience again, but made sure to remind himself of the situation and QuackerJack's status as a brain trauma patient. This had to be handled with utmost caution. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it, but there's going to be some things on those that are a bit unsettling. Not just the Whiffle Boy Entertainment surveillance video, but there's some footage from security cameras that caught sight of you during those four months. You were not in a good state of mind, it's very clear in the footage, and it was even more obvious face-to-face."

QuackerJack blinked and lifted his head with an expression of mild apprehension.

"... Darkwing, I told you, I don't remember anything about that. I can't explain anything, I can't confirm it, it's honestly upsetting to know that I even did any of that." He shook his head and touched a hand to the bridge of his beak in an unconscious calming gesture. He blinked again and looked floored. "... All you've been doing is just keep telling me over and over and over and over about what I did. You haven't once asked me what I remember before waking up here, y'know? You haven't asked anything about what I've been up to before all this happened."

"Well, Claire filled me in on the gist of it in order for me to understand why I should have tried to talk you down."

"Alright, fair. But, haven't you even wondered about  _how_  I met her?"

"It crossed my mind, but like I said, the priority at the time was to talk you down before something happened."

"... When you word it like that, it just sounds even worse, if I'm going to be honest." QuackerJack said unenthusiastically. He cleared his throat. "... After I lost Mr. Banana Brain, things got a lot less fun. Then you disappeared. Then QuackWerks showed up, and before I knew it, I was given a job and place to stay that wasn't under the streets, and I could actually earn my own income, and it was nice, but it just didn't really feel like I fit into the whole thing. Yeah, I made a few friends in the company, but I just really couldn't go anywhere without feeling like a pariah. I mean, I totally understand why, but I did try to make an effort to start over. I really did." He sighed. "... Then I met Claire. She was bringing the mail to my department floor and I was telling a funny story to one of my coworkers, and I heard her laugh and... Well, it took me a few weeks to even figure out how to talk to her. I couldn't figure out why she was interested in getting to know me, but I'm glad she did. She's nice. I like nice."

"I see..." Darkwing said, mostly to move the conversation along. "Well, then, what is it you remember before you ended up here?"

Almost immediately, QuackerJack's eyes lit up when it was clear that he was relieved to finally be able to properly answer a question with complete confidence.

He recounted the entirety of the events leading up to the missing chunk of memories, from the anxiety attacks to the mystery of the placebo prescription, to the mandatory two-week vacation he was given after it was decided that he had been working himself ragged on the toy projects (which QuackerJack made sure to clarify and reiterate that he had to be forced to take the vacation). As QuackerJack continued to tell his story, Darkwing couldn't help but noticed that the particular focus appeared to be on the emotional aspect of things. QuackerJack would explain about how he felt during an event, rather than gloss over the event itself.

All in all, his recounting of the two weeks leading to his last memory before he woke up at the hospital was very thorough and frank, and it seemed like he had no hesitation in explaining even his behavior during and after a panic. Heck, he even prattled on about something involving swapping french fry trays and the process of scrapbooking and pizza with cheese crammed in the crust.

It was very clear that his general memory retention was fairly good, it's just that everything involving the infamous four months in action was a complete blank. And it was obviously very frustrating to QuackerJack.

"... I don't like this, Darkwing. I tried to do everything right, and I still managed to ruin it all. And the worst thing is that I don't even remember how or why..." QuackerJack was now looking at the tiles on the floor and seemed to be mentally counting how many alternately colored ones there were in his sight. "At least when I went bankrupt and lost the factory, I knew why and what I did wrong, even if it took me a few years to let it sink in. And I can at least still  _remember_  all of that."

Unable to come up with a good verbal response, Darkwing merely made a noise of acknowledgment that he hoped didn't sound accusing or disinterested.

This seemed to be acceptable, as QuackerJack returned the response with a half-hearted shrug.

"... I guess it's not completely terrible right now, though." QuackerJack added, cracking a small smile. "At least there's some familiar faces around here. I mean, I would have never thought Mr. Banana Brain was going to be back, much less repaired, yet here he is. And you really have no idea how much it means to me that you're back in St. Canard; it's just been so  _boring_  without your flair and those Crimebots have no sense of humor whatsoever. Whoever built those have no idea how to give them personality, at least my stuff had that much effort in them."

He forced a laugh.

"... I'll watch the tapes. I just want to wait for Claire to be here in case I need to be calmed down... She's really good at that."

* * *

Looking back on it, Jacky considered that he may have made an error in judging his capacity to be able to properly handle the feedback of information he'd receive upon watching the tapes. He had figured that it couldn't possibly be any worse than what the media had aired during new reports, but he had to admit that he was fairly close to being wrong about that.

It wasn't necessarily  _worse_ , as the media outlets hadn't shied away on details, it was more that there was so much unedited footage that prominently displayed the sheer amount of time each incident seemed to unfold.

The media had streamlined the footage, playing the relevant parts, which had made things seem more erratic in presentation with the jumpcuts, but truth be told... it was erratic even without the trimming. No clear pattern, no visible plan, not even a readable consistency in body language, it was like he'd been on autopilot the whole time.

It all felt like he was looking at a doppelganger on the screen, someone else in control of his actions like some man behind the curtain pulling some strings, while he could still recognize his own nuances that made him easily identifiable regardless of the grainy, poorly lit quality of much of the footage. It would seem that most of the incidents took place during the later hours of the day, as he crept throughout the city once the sun began to set.

The one that really seemed to set off a reaction of horror was the tape containing several pieces of footage of him decimating a Crimebot with his bare hands.

The first segment was a sort of diagonal overhead angle, the sort of display aspect that was common from security cameras set up on the outside of business buildings. It was grainy, like most of the footage he'd seen so far, but it was also harshly illuminated by what appeared to be a burning building not too far away from the focal scene.

Jacky could make out three other individuals who accompanied him, and had no problem in identifying them as Megavolt, Bushroot and Liquidator, all of whom were staring at the burning remains with varying degrees of apprehension, notably Bushroot taking a moment to steal a glance at the bleary eyed, grinning clown (regardless of video quality, that odd grin was so distinctive).

Jacky watched himself stand calmly in the middle of the group with his arms behind his back, and how he seemed to react to the scene before them with an unusual amount of dissonance, almost appearing to be amused by the fire, and continued to hold that expression as several Crimebots arrived to investigate the disturbance.

The lack of audio to the footage only made Jacky's imagination run wild as he muttered questions to himself about what could possibly be exchanged in words between the group, and that was when he saw himself tense up in the footage and without warning... The clownish toy maker launched himself at one particular Crimebot in a screaming ballistic rage, tackling it to the ground in a flurry of swinging fists as he dismantled the machine in a matter of seconds, reducing it to a pile of parts and components as he stood up shakily. At some point, he appeared to even try to strangle the non-existent neck of the Crimebot.

Jacky could see how uneasy Bushroot appeared as the other two stood in shock at the sight of the clown surrounded by dented and gnarled bits of metal, having done that despite his lack of physical abilities compared to his team.

He did not expect the relatively clear first-person perspective footage of the very same incident, apparently from the very same Crimebot that had been on the receiving end of his destructive assault. This footage, although visually damaged near the end, had been recorded on a much more advanced technology than simple magnetic tape, and the damage to the clarity near the end was a result of QuackerJack having damaged the camera connection and lenses during his berserk attack.

What had set him off, it seemed, was the utterance of the name "Negaduck".

The footage visually ended on QuackerJack's wild-eyed, enraged grimace before the signal garbled into a mess of pixelated squares once he made contact, but one could still hear the assault in progress in crystal clarity, as his voice screeched out: " **NEVER! EVER! SAY! THAT! NAME!** "

Jacky's fingers tightened around the cloth doll in his shaking hands as he stared at the screen with such a stillness settling through him, and such captivated attention that he was startled when he felt Claire place a hand on his shoulder while he sat on the bed and continued to stare at the footage. He seemed to have been completely hyperfocused on watching the screen that he'd momentarily forgotten where he even was.

The audio of him gasping and wheezing and panting after he petered out continued to play for a bit before Darkwing took the cue to pause the tape, but not before the tentative voice of a very unnerved Bushroot sounded off quietly, asking the clown if he was alright, the tone of it seeming more like he was asking pertaining to the state of mind and not the physical condition of him.

Bushroot sounded outright terrified.

Bushroot had always been wary of the clown, mostly because Jacky and the botanist had such differing personalities that they simply clashed without much effort, and Jacky had to admit that he used to find some amusement in teasing the normally reserved Bushroot just to test how far he could get before the plant duck snapped back.

It was always clear that Bushroot found Jacky to be a nuisance at most, but perhaps it was the childish attitude of the clown that often prompted Bushroot to nevertheless drag him out of danger instinctively whenever thier former employer would turn his rage on Jacky and the rest of team. If one were to discribe the dynamics between them, Bushroot was the mature and level-headed older sibling figure of sorts, while Jacky was the bratty little snot who'd whine and throw tantrums when things didn't go to his liking.

Bushroot, however, in this footage, sounded like he'd like nothing more than to get as far away from the clown as possible, and was perhaps only there out of necessity, or, Jacky wondered as the horrible plausibility had crossed his mind, maybe Bushroot was forced to participate in this event against his preference.

Bushroot sounded terrified of QuackerJack, plain and simple.

The tape had been paused just as a quiet, unhinged giggle in Jacky's voice followed Bushroot's question.

"... Jacky, if you want, I'm sure Darkwing wouldn't mind postponing the rest of the viewing until you feel more comfortable with it."

"... Wha..?"

It was obvious that he had no idea how to respond to that, and the shock had left him more or less speechless.

"... Jacky?"

"... Uh..."

"Jacky, are you alright?

Something suddenly snapped in him and he began to scream in horror, grabbing fistfuls of downy fluff from his head in his hands instinctively as he continued to screech and spiral out of control in emotional terror. He had no idea how to respond to this whole ordeal, and the overload of emotions and thier severity was honestly too much to process at the moment. He screamed as a means to alleviate the crushing pressure on his stability. He screamed because it was the only thing he could think to do.

When he felt his emotional state calm down and even out, he realized that he had managed to snatch up the box of unwatched tapes and was unsuccessfully attempting to flush a few of said tapes down the toilet in the adjoining bathroom. Why he would even think that was remotely possible in any state of mind, he could not say.

Of course, coming to realize what he was doing at the moment also meant that there was a sudden explosion of sound assaulting his senses as he stared in confusion while Darkwing attempted to salvage the water damaged tapes, shaking out the water while yelling in a flustered rage at Jacky as Claire carefully but firmly pried the box from Jacky's arm (he had the corner of the box resting on his hip to presumably free up his other hand to be able to operate the flushing mechanism).

The toy maker then realized that he was also actively trying to shove Darkwing away with a lifted foot (as his hands were already busy), and while the whole set up for all this seemed like it should have been comical, it was honestly far from it. His face was wet along the cheeks and it didn't take him long to realize that he must have had tears streaming down his face.

Jacky let go of the box and stepped backwards away from the scene in front of him, muttering a string of expletives under his breath as he understood what sort of damage he'd just done without thinking. He knew a great deal about old technology and media formats, and moisture was something he knew had no business being inside of a video cassette.

"I-I don't-!" He stammered, shrinking backwards into the opposite corner of the room, hands up, fingers curled and fists pressed under his jaw as he subconsciously tried to draw himself into a haunched, shaking position on the floor, appearing to be terrified of an inevitable and harsh reprimand. He shielded his face, and shook his head. "I didn't mean to do that! I didn't! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"It's not so much that you just tried to destroy the footage, it's that you have no idea how much effort it took to convert it into this format!" Darkwing snapped at him as liquid drained out of the crevices of the VHS tape he currently was holding over the sink. "I still have the hard copies obviously, but this was the only format that would work with my tech that I brought! New blank tapes are getting hard to find around here!"

Jacky visibly twitched at this statement, suddenly appearing to be stricken with incredulous aggravation at having just been put through this ordeal.

"What! Haven't you ever heard of a thumb drive! You could have just put a copy of all that on a single drive, and just plugged it into the TV that was already here! I was worried that I had ruined the hard copies!" He shouted back, throwing his hands in the air. "And everyone says  _I'm_  out of touch with the modern tech? At least I know how to handle modern media formats!"

"...  _That's_  what you're upset about right now!" Darkwing shot a glare at him. "You just had a full blown meltdown, tried to flush the tapes, and screamed your head off, and the thing you're upset about is that I used an archaic media format!"

" _I don't know!_ " Jacky snapped back, eyes tearing up again, this time in frustration. "You just keep yelling at me, and I don't like being yelled at!"

There was a sharp knock at the room's outside door, followed by a very careful question about if everything was alright, by what sounded like one of the regular nurses.

" _I'm fine!_ " Jacky shouted from across the room, perhaps a bit more rudely than he would have normally.

"Jacky!" Claire was a little shocked by the aggressive tone his voice had taken in that brief moment.

" _What!_ " He barked before it dawned on him how he was acting, particularly when Claire flinched. Timidly, he mumbled an apology and hid his flushed face in his hands in shame, letting a whimper escape him.

The nurse peered into the small adjoining bathroom and was likely a bit surprised to find the trio of Ducks in there, one of which was holding a fair sized cardboard box haphazardly filled with VHS tapes, one duck standing over the sink while draining the moisture from a waterlogged tape, and the brain trauma patient sitting on the cold tiled floor with his face awkwardly hidden in his hands.

This was probably the fourth most unusual thing she'd seen on this particular shift.

"Is everything alright, Mr. QuackerJack?"

Jacky gave a single twitch and looked up through his fingers. He looked at Darkwing, who seemed a little concerned that his outburst was going to be outted, then he looked at Claire, who looked back at him genuine concern for his well being.

"... I'm just a little tired, that's all..." He said truthfully. The whole ordeal had left him feeling physically and mentally drained, and he had no doubt that screaming's reverberation through his skull did not help matters much. He braced himself against the wall and awkwardly stood from the floor, heaving a sigh. "... My head hurts..."

He blinked and realized that he was suddenly backed into the corner again as the nurse was quick to examine him and his reflexes.

"... Uh... I'm... It's fine, I just-" He stammered before gentle fingers carefully pinched his beak shut.

"Mr. QuackerJack, you are a brain trauma victim, if you say your head hurts, then I can't ignore that." The nurse reassured, holding up her other hand with the index finger pointing upward. "Follow my hand with your eyes, not your head, please."

He did so and clenched his jaw when he saw a flicker of concern flash across the nurse's face.

"... Mmph?" Jacky managed to utter through his closed mouth.

"I don't want to alarm you, but your eyes seem just a little off kilter..."

Jacky reached up a hand to pry his beak free.

"I've got that thing where my eyes kinda go different directions sometimes... It's got a wierd name, but it's a thing..." He mumbled, looking up at ceiling to avoid staring at her. "... My head hurts like something is squeezing it, like a rubberband around a bundle of newspaper, not where it's all bruised..."

"Any nausea or feeling any weakness?"

"No? I just feel tired, not sick." Jacky shot a pleading glance at Claire, nonverbally asking to be rescued. "Maybe 'tired' isn't the right word... Um... 'fatigued'? I just want to lay down where it's quiet and not all bright, it's making my head buzzzzz." He twiddled his fingers in the air near his forehead as if that was supposed to be a visual guide.

The nurse wasn't entirely familiar with the odd diction Jacky occasionally had when having difficulty finding the right words. She continued her brief examination before asking: "So, other than the headache, you're sure you feel absolutely fine?"

"Physically, yes." Jacky insisted. "I'm not sick, my head just hurts a little."

"A little or a lot?"

" _A little._ " Jacky reiterated, starting to wonder if he was ever going to be get over to that bed without some ridiculous intervention. "I'd like to get out of this bathroom now, the tiles are cold."

"Well, based on your account, I'd have to guess what you're experiencing is a tension headache." The nurse said. "They're fairly common, even without a preexisting head injury. The good news is that they are easy to manage, and can be remedied as easily as drinking some water and sleeping it off with a nap."

"... Well, that sounds a lot less hectic than all the other treatments I've had." Jacky gave a feeble grin as he carefully stepped along the wall to escape the unintentional cornering that had happened. "I like that idea. I'm just gonna go over there now, this has been such a crazy day, what time is it?"

"Six in the evening."

"... It's still early. Well, dang."


	4. Chapter 4

Darkwing didn't exactly expect to lose track of QuackerJack, but for some reason, Darkwing did in fact lose track of QuackerJack.

What made this more concerning is that QuackerJack was not in his assigned room, nor did he seem to be anywhere on that hospital floor.

Somehow, Darkwing managed to lose track of a recovering brain trauma patient who was easily a head taller than him, had a minor limp in his stride, and was known to have the attention span of kid hopped up on caffeine and sugar.

If he was lucky, Darkwing might be able to locate him before Claire arrived for her daily visit in the evening, and be spared the embarrassing task of explaining to her how he managed to keep his attention off QuackerJack long enough for him to disappear from sight in a well regulated place of healing.

Darkwing refrained from alerting too many people about this snag in today's events, as he did not want the entire hospital to be placed on lockdown and likely end up as evening local news, which would of course be blown out of proportion.

He could just see the headlines now: " **Local Clown Lunatic Disappears; Causes Lockdown of Dispensary (Darkwing Declines for Comment)** "

After the initial annoyance wore off, it occurred to Darkwing that perhaps QuackerJack wandering off while still in his recovering state might be more cause for alarm than he considered at first. Darkwing wasn't quite sure to what degree certain things were either debilitating or physically detrimental to a head injury victim, but he couldn't help be have the troubling mental image of a confused and disoriented QuackerJack wandering off the hospital property into possible dangers, and then Darkwing would have to explain to Claire how he had inadvertently allowed that to happen via in attentiveness. He already had to deal with the occasional sleepwalking episode from his kid, and was well aware how St. Canard wasn't a good place to be ambling about in without any coherent thought.

_I only looked away for maybe a minute or two, how could he have gotten so far that quickly, he's got a limp, for crying out loud..._

He quickly inspected the current floor he was on, glimpsing into waiting room lobbies, and asking the occasional orderly if they'd seen a scrawny, lanky, buck toothed Duck wandering around the halls. Not much luck, as most leads (if any) seemed to be just a few minutes too late.

Then Darkwing stopped where he was and smacked a hand to his forehead.

_Of course, where's the one place a guy obsessed with toys is going to be at in a hospital..?_

The Pediatrics waiting room lobby.

Sure enough, there was QuackerJack, sitting in a chair and at a table far too small for his gangly stature. It was almost comical, the way he looked, sitting like that.

He was stacking wooden blocks with the children in the waiting room, and it seemed like the children were enjoying having someone there who was tall enough to put the highest blocks on the tallest part of the stack. In fact, it seemed like QuackerJack himself was enjoying the interaction and attention.

Odd as it seemed, Darkwing found himself paused in the entry point of the lobby and staring at the sight, blinking as QuackerJack laughed along with the kids as the block tower tumbled over from poor weight distribution, and they simply started again, albeit with a different style of foundation. QuackerJack did not notice Darkwing as he suggested to the kids how to make a more stable structure by adding blocks as lower supports.

"But, we won't have enough to make it really tall!" One of kids chimed in among the chatter.

"Well, yeah, but trust me, it'll fall over too easily if you don't stabilize it." QuackerJack said, pushing a few blocks along the table to set them against the foundation. "I've had that happen plenty before. It was a big mess. Fell right down on me."

No doubt he was referring to that massive block castle he'd constructed in his abandoned underground factory that Darkwing "tripped" into and brought the whole thing down on them in a far-from-whimsical avalanche of playthings. QuackerJack had ended up in near hysterics once his beautiful "toy kingdom" had been toppled like a house of cards, and the only logical thing to do, in his perspective, was to blow the rest of them via an exploding clown airbag.

Not that any of the children understood that remark, of course.

Darkwing was starting to wonder if he should say something to catch QuackerJack's attention, when QuackerJack spotted him out of the corner of his eye and almost quicker than a blink, he ducked as best as he could under the short table, which was an impressive feat for one suffering from a couple neurological difficulties at the moment.

Now, of course, because he wasn't child sized, this amounted to sticking his head under the table and his rump in the air, and it was probably about as effective as the concept of a dragon trying to hide itself under a throw rug.

"... You know I can still see you, right?"

"I'm not leaving yet, it's fun here."

"It's almost time for your scheduled check up, you can't be wasting time here."

"I beg to differ. It's not a waste of time; I'm stacking blocks, so that should be a good visual display of my retained and recovering motor functions." QuackerJack peered out cautiously from under the table. "I'm socializing, and employing problem solving skills by altering the manner of stacking blocks. I'd say that it should be considered a good thing for me to be over here."

"I don't make the rules. You have an exam scheduled, and it's of the utmost importance for you to keep up with these so that any sign of deviance in your physical recovery can be caught and countered before it becomes a legitimate concern." Darkwing reasoned in a level tone, having very little patience with QuackerJack and his shannangins right now.

"... I feel fine, can't we just postpone it?" QuackerJack whined in a petulant tone.

"I said I don't make the rules. You need to be there for the exam, it doesn't get done unless you're there." Darkwing stepped around the children staring at him to stand behind the table, hands on his hips.

"I don't much feel like getting a light flashed in my eyes or my mouth probed with a fat popsicle stick today." QuackerJack stuck his tongue out defiantly. "I said I'm fine."

"And  _I_  said it's almost time for your scheduled check up."

QuackerJack attempted to crawl out from the opposite end of the table, but he felt a hand grab his ankle, so he grabbed a leg of the table while he was tugged back. The table scooted with him.

"... Not gonna lie, I thought this was bolted to floor." QuackerJack mumbled as the stacked blocks fell over. He let go of the table leg as Darkwing let go of his. "Oh, now look what you did, we gotta rebuild the whole thing now, thanks Darkwing."

"Can't you act your age!"

"You don't even know how old I am, so how would you know that I'm not?"

"Because I'm pretty sure you're not a kid."

"Kid at heart!"

"No, you're being immature. There's a difference."

"Oh, you're no fun!" QuackerJack continued to whine, sitting up, folding his arms and pouting.

It was at this point that Darkwing was aware of the stares he was getting from the children and their parents (who were sitting in the chairs along the walls of the waiting room). QuackerJack took this opportunity to quietly crawl his way out of the waiting room as Darkwing quickly and unnecessarily tried to explain the situation to those present, then once he was out of sight, he stood up and ducked behind a corner, snickering to himself. Admittedly, avoiding Darkwing was a bit fun, not unlike the odd little games of "chase" he used to make the Masked Mallard partake in during capers.

It wasn't long until he heard Darkwing exclaim in frustration when he realized QuackerJack had disappeared yet again, and the toy maker watched Darkwing rush past him through the adjoining hallway, having not seen him as he didn't look to the right. QuackerJack grinned to himself, but stifled the laugh that was trying escape him, as he didn't want to give away his position so easily.

This was fun.

And of course, Darkwing, not wanting to let it be known that he wasn't capable of keeping track of QuackerJack, wouldn't easily alert the hospital staff that the buck toothed duck was evading him with such ease, unless he planned to make a scene. Knowing Darkwing, his pride would win out and he'd insist that he'd do this on his own so he could lay claim to handling the situation gloriously once it was defused.

Simply put, Darkwing was going to play the game with him, whether he wanted to or not. QuackerJack had waited far too long for this opportunity.

The rules were very simple. QuackerJack had decided that he was going to remain on the same floor, just that he was going to venture from waiting room to waiting room until Darkwing managed to finally get him back to his room, or if QuackerJack simply got bored of the game, whichever came first.

He did not tell Darkwing the rules, because it was just so amusing to hear the elevator doors chime and look out into the courtyard below to see his favorite playmate running around out there trying to find him.

This was as it should be, QuackerJack felt. Their own personal game of hide-and-seek.

He glanced at one of the papers hung up on the wall that was slipped into a plastic protector. It was a map of the floor plan, with fire escape paths marked clearly in lines of dotted red ink, but it also gave him a good mental image of the layout of the floor, from the hallways to adjoining corridors to exactly where his room was in correlation to his current position. These maps were posted at nearly every corner and intersection of the wing, and QuackerJack had to wonder if Darkwing had even bothered to use them to his advantage like he was.

Honestly, he liked the look and feel of the Pediatrics wing better than where he was staying, as there was a much more inviting choice in wall decor and colors, as well as the obligatory activity stations to amuse the children and stave off boredom while they waited for their names to be called. The only thing worth noting even remotely amusing on his end of things was the large cylindrical aquarium located in the corner of nearest waiting room from his assigned room, and while he didn't have any real objection to being mesmerized by the many small colorful saltwater fishies and other aquatic specimens in the tank, he preferred to be entertained by something more interactive.

That said, while you'd probably assume his favorite fish to watch in the tank was a clownfish, that would be incorrect. It was a long nose butterflyfish.

QuackerJack decided to venture to the fish tank once the inticing idea of watching the cute little water critters dart in and out of the display coral sounded like fun, and maybe he'd consider ending the game there.

Of course, he wasn't looking forward to the check up he had scheduled, but he had to admit that postponing it wasn't doing anything for him but just postponing it.

He was carefully tracing a finger along the curved surface of the tank, watching the fish seemingly follow along, by the time Darkwing found him again.

"I saw you go into the courtyard, by the way." QuackerJack said once he noticed the reflection in the glass. "Just so you know, I never left the floor, I've been on this level the whole time."

He bit back a grin as he heard Darkwing start to sputter in frustration before he shouted: "WHAT KIND OF GAME DO YOU THINK YOU'RE PLAYING?"

"... I've been hiding around, what do you  _think_  I'm playing?" QuackerJack looked at him with a glance over the shoulder before returning to sliding his fingers across the glass of the tank to follow the fish. "And don't yell so much, this is a place of healing, people like the quiet."

"Need I remind you that you are recovering from head trauma and the last thing you should be doing is wandering off somewhere someone can't find you or get to you if you have a relapse or a medical issue." Darkwing's tone of voice indicated his patience was wearing thin, and QuackerJack found some amusement in pushing that button ever so carefully.

"It's not wandering if I know what I'm doing."

"You're missing the point."

"You can't tell me that wasn't even a little bit fun, come on."

"Did you even hear what I said?"

"Yeah, yeah, something about not wandering off when I'm still recovering from head trauma, 'cause people can't find me, I know, I know." QuackerJack finally looked at him properly, and the amusement in his face had faded to reveal annoyance. "Is there anything else you want me to do besides stagnating in my room? Or should I just let my brain atrophy from lack of stimulation?"

"Alright, maybe I need to word this in a way that you get it." Darkwing didn't seemed fazed by the comment. "Who's going to explain to Claire that you, against better judgment, wandered off somewhere and no one knows where or what state you'd be in."

"Calisota."

"What?"

"The state. It's Calisota."

" _You know very well what I mean!_ "

"Oh, don't get your feathers all ruffled, you're too serious." QuackerJack stuck his tongue between his teeth before looking back at the fish. "I knew exactly what I was doing, I wouldn't be foolish enough to purposely endanger myself."

"And you're starting to get irritable." Darkwing sounded matter-of-factly, but QuackerJack really didn't care right now. "You really need to go to that check up, the sooner it's done, the sooner you can get back to doing what you want to do."

There was silence as QuackerJack slowly pulled his hand away from the fish tank, letting his arm drop to his side limply. He darted his eyes from side to side as he stared at the reflection in the glass before he shifted his tired gaze back at Darkwing.

"... I want to go home." He mumbled in an uncharacteristically quiet voice before looking down. There was a sharp inhale, and he wheezed as he continued. "... I want my life back..."

Darkwing had seen QuackerJack break down plenty before, and almost always in such a loud and hysterical manner, almost disproportionate to the situation at hand as he stomped around and wailed about how unfair things were.

This time, however, QuackerJack just mutely sank to the floor in a sitting, trembling ball, and buried his face in his hands. It was such a startling contrast to what had come to be expected, and in that moment it was very clear how helpless QuackerJack really felt.

Maybe Darkwing gone about this all wrong. Maybe he had been a little snippy with QuackerJack, and maybe he  _was_  being a bit too serious about this.

Of course, he didn't really know QuackerJack as well as he thought he had, and perhaps he really should remember that QuackerJack was recovering from a brain injury and likely wouldn't be "himself" for a long time, if at all. That particular thought made Darkwing cringe as each of QuackerJack breaths were deep and wheezy, as if trying to force himself to keep his composure.

Darkwing sat down beside him awkwardly and waited a good minute before speaking.

"... Hey, Um... You... You doing alright there..?" He asked before adding after a pause: "... Jacky?"

QuackerJack lifted his head just enough to look at him timidly, then hid his face again with a tired groan.

"... No." He mumbled truthfully, shaking his head. "... No, I'm not."

"Okay, so maybe I  _was_  a little hard on you there." Darkwing said, looking upwards at the high-rise ceiling with a grimace. "But, you should know why it's a bad idea to disappear like that, considering you're-"

"Recovering from a brain injury, I  _know_." QuackerJack snapped back wearily. "I know that. I know what I shouldn't be doing and what I can be doing. I just thought it'd be a little harmless fun to break the monotony. It's not like I set the place on fire or anything, I wasn't even running around."

"There's restrictions put in place for a reason."

"And is that reason to ensure my well-being and safety, or is that so they can make sure I don't 'escape' again?"

Somehow, QuackerJack managed to say that with the most deadpan delivery possible, yet still managed to give such a bitter edge to it. He lifted his head again and looked at Darkwing, who didn't respond to that statement, perhaps because it had caught him off guard.

"... I don't even remember any of that anyway. Not even a single second, nothing." The clownish duck shook his head slowly. "And not for lack of trying, mind you."

"... Well, I read that it's probably likely that you'll either not remember it for a long time, if at all."

"... That doesn't make me feel any better, Darkwing, just stop."

"I'm not good at this, can you tell?"

This made QuackerJack snort a little, perhaps more than it should have. He smiled feebly, a stark contrast to his well known Cheshire grin.

"... Very." He seemed to relax a little, and he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "... It's not so much the possibility of never remembering anything about that bothers me. It's that I don't know what I'm supposed to do  _if_  I do." His fingers buried in the downy fluff on his head and bunched them up as if unconsciously grabbing the fuzzy feathers as a self comforting action. "... What happens then? Would I go back to being like crazy that, or will it be like some distant memory, a bad dream? Does everything I'm doing right now just... goes away? No more 'Jacky', just 'QuackerJack'?"

"... I'm not sure I follow exactly."

"I don't mean like it's two different people, I mean that..." QuackerJack paused and looked as though finding the words was difficult. "... Look, Darkwing, I'm just... tired. This is a lot to have to deal with, and I just wanted to do something fun. And to be fair, you've been gone a long time."

"And to be fair, I've been back for a while now."

"... I know..." QuackerJack dropped his head again. "... I guess we should just go to that exam now, then..."

* * *

He stared at the curious little craft project supplies in his hands. As part of his recovery process and a test of sorts to gauge his retained dexterity and whatever else they said (he honestly didn't pay much attention to the explanation, if he was going to be honest), he was given the opportunity to create something.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been ecstatic to be asked to design and build a playful little critter from scratch, but found his given tools to be a bit lacking.

Air drying modeling compound and pipe cleaners. Not that he hadn't worked with those before, but it seemed to be almost primitive for his usual style. He understood that he was being limited on resources likely to prevent any temptation to create one of his more "intriguing" ideas, as several people on this floor was aware of the activity had expressed concerns about it. As if he could somehow bring clay and pipe cleaners to life by pure will, what a silly thought.

The musky sweet smell of the modeling compound filled the air as he popped the lids off all the containers to get good look at all the colors, and he laid all the pipe cleaners on table in graduating order according to colors of the rainbow (which took longer than he'd like to admit, as he was having difficulty in remembering what color to start with).

The pipe cleaners were bendy, and he could easily twist them and curl them into shapes that he might need for any ideas he might have.

He held a hand above the cup of green clay, and hesitated.

"... You haven't told me what I'm supposed to make." He said bluntly, realizing there was already an obstacle and he hadn't so much as touched the soft surface of any of the clays yet.

"This is an activity meant for you to have control over, make what you want."

Jacky grimaced. He didn't know if it was a bad case of the nerves getting to him, but his mind felt blank when it came to trying to visualize something to bring out and give form.

"... I... I don't know." He muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment. "... I haven't made anything for a while, I think I need to just mess around with this stuff until I start getting an idea..."

"Have at it, then, go nuts."

He hadn't expected such a simple response. He blinked and looked back at the uncapped cups before cracking a smile as he grabbed each one of them, one after the other, flipped them over and dumped the balls of colorful dough onto the table. Even if he didn't have any ideas at the moment, he was still going to take advantage of the opportunity to stick his fingers into the soft clay until his digits were faintly stained with so many colors and smelled of salty musty wheat as he squeezed the dough in his hands.

He made it into snaky shapes, rolled it into balls, squished them flat and pressed pieces together to fuse them. Then he pushed a hand down on them to squash it into flat mound as he imagined a  **SPLAT**  noise accompanying the actions, as if smacking a bug.

Yet, he couldn't think of an idea to shape all this clay and pipe cleaners into.

He froze as if someone or something had flipped a switch off in his movements.

It hadn't occurred to him until now that his head injury might impair his ability to create his curious little crafts. He racked his brain for ideas, for something, maybe even a little spark of ingenuity, and he was horrified to be greeted with absolutely nothing.

_... It's just clay and pipe cleaners, it's not like I've got all these components to use, that's not a big deal, I just haven't used such a simple concept in years, that's all..._

He tried to assure himself that. He wanted to believe that he was just trying to approach something simple with a complex state of mind, and he just had to clear his mind and tap into that childlike sense of imagination and creativity in order to come up with a project to make with modeling compound and pipe cleaners.

_I built two time machines, I can sure as heck make something with this stuff_

He found himself looking around the room, darting his eyes across all the framed prints on the walls. Scenery, nothing but scenery in each of those; he was hoping to find an animal in the images to give him some inspiration. He wanted to make a friendly little critter, but he had no idea what kind.

"Mr. QuackerJack?"

He looked back at the person sitting across the table. The one who was in charge of taking notes and recording all his nuances to determine how well he was healing and if anything was cause for concern.

"... I, uh... I'm having a little trouble with sorting out an idea." Jacky admitted sheepishly, and felt his heart sink as he watched the pen scratch across the paper to take note of that. Darn it. "... It's been a while since I've been able to really make anything, so I think I'm a bit out of my groove."

"You don't have to impress us, the point of this exercise is so we can assess how your dexterity is doing in lieu of the injury and your treatments. Make whatever makes you feel comfortable, you don't even have to use all the materials."

"... I'm a toy maker. I've made more complicated things before."

"Yes, but with your injuries, you may experience some impairment and it's important to catch and assess that so we help with your therapy and recovery."

"... That doesn't make me feel any better, you know that, right?" Jacky growled. "Being an artist and not being able to create anything is the absolute worst..."

"Just play around with the stuff then, we're just going to be taking notes on how your fingers are responding to your actions."

After some more back and forth banter, Jacky eventually settled back down and peeled the flattened dough off the table, turning it around in his hands as he stared at it. He frowned again.

"... I... can't think of anything..." He mumbled, fighting back a sniffle. It was frustrating to the point of tears. "... I don't like this..."

"It's alright, it doesn't have to be an animal, you could just shape a box or a flower if you want."

"That's so uninspired!" Jacky shouted, slamming his hands on the table and standing up. "You can't just tell me to be simple about this, I used to be the greatest toy maker in the world, for gosh sakes! Now I can't even make a stupid... little...  _whatever that is! I hate this!_ " He heard more scribbling on the paper. "And I  _hate_  that you're taking notes!"

"I assure you, it's not for judging you." He was told. "We also need to document your emotional state during this activity, because that also ties in with our assessment. You've suffered a brain injury, so we not only are monitoring your brain activity, but your emotional responses and your physical recovery as well."

"... I know about all that brain stuff, I studied it before..." Jacky lowered his voice and sat back down as a shade of pink spread across his face. "... Alright, so how am I doing, then? Would you say that I'm recovering just fine or am I being difficult..?"

"Thats confidential."

"It's  _my_  files! I should be allowed to know! And you're smiling! Are you teasing me!"

"Mr. QuackerJack, if you are starting to be upset about this activity, we'll more than happily give you a break so you can get your bearings."

"I am not a child, I can do this!" He snapped back, grabbing a fistful of colored clay in either hand and slapping them together. "I can do this, I just can't do what I really want to with it!" He threw the combined glob on the table and rolled it under his palms. "I'll make something, but I'm not going to guarantee any quality to it!"

It seemed that spite was a good motivator, as he pinched the clay together and shoved pipe cleaners into it at reckless abandon, bending the wires into simple shape. Before long, he had, well... something.

"That's a nice little snail."

"... I could have sworn this was supposed to be a hermit crab." Jacky frowned once more, puffed his cheeks, then exhaled wearily. "... A snail is fine too, I guess... It's something at least." He pushed it across the table. "I guess you want the pieces back, hmm?"

"Oh, that's fine, you can keep him if you want."

He hadn't expected that.

"... How do you know it's not a girl snail?" He said, cupping a hand over the little craft project and pulling it back to him. "Is it because I used a lot of blue? Girls can like blue."

"Sounds like you already have a plan for this one, hmm?"

"I didn't say that. I asked how do you know that this is a boy snail."

There was a small, amused laugh given as a response.

"Well, then, why don't you tell us about your snail?"

"... I just made 'em, I haven't thought of a backstory yet." Jacky scooped up the clay mollusk and covered it carefully with the other hand as if shielding it. "Maybe it's not a snail but a slug lugging a spotted shell around pretending to be a snail because it's trying to fit in. I don't know, I'm not making assumptions."

"Is there a name for your little snail?"

"... Lumpy." Jacky said with hesitation, as if not entirely committed to the choice. "... You know, because I couldn't get the clay to smooth out very well."

"I'd say you did pretty good, Lumpy looks like a friendly snail."

"... Whatever." He muttered, looking at the little clay figure in his hands. "... Was supposed to be a hermit crab..."

* * *

Jacky blinked. He couldn't explain why, but it seemed like he was having some mild difficulty in processing what he was being told. For what felt like the fifth time already in this conversation, he asked to have the last part repeated, face darkening a shade of red from embarrassment.

"Circle the item in each group that are not like the rest."

"... What kind of groups are we looking at? If they're put together, doesn't that mean they do belong?"

"Just circle the ones that don't fit in your opinion."

Jacky wasn't sure how they managed to stay so patient with him, as he himself was getting very frustrated at not being able to grasp this simple task.

"... I'm sorry... I'm just... this doesn't make sense, is there another way you can explain it to me?" He fidgeted the pen between his fingers nervously. "... I mean, you've got a picture of a brick, a cup and a van here. Are we looking for the one that's not boxy looking, the one that's a vehicle, or the one that doesn't have only three letters in the name? Or maybe the one that's not for transferring stuff from one place to another? Or maybe the one that can't be thrown through a window?"

"There's no wrong answer, you can pick whatever you'd like."

He hesitated before he drew an X through the brick.

"You can't carry an egg in this one." He said before it suddenly occurred to him that he should have  _circled_  it instead. "Oh, dang it!" He hastily scribbled a circle around it over and over until he could smell ballpoint pen ink in the air and he was confident that the circle was more noticeable than the X. "I don't know why I didn't circle it right away! This is fine, right? You can see that it's a circle, can't you?"

"Yes, Mr. QuackerJa-"

"It's a circle! I circled it, I did what I was supposed to!" Jacky held up the paper and jabbed the pen at the now messy scribbles that had started to compromise the integrity of the page. "Why would you give me a pen to use, anyway? I can't erase it if I mess up like this!"

"There's no wrong answer, Mr. QuackerJack. It's not a quiz."

"Then what was the point of me doing this thing if this isn't a test?" Jacky scowled, slamming his hand down on the table in agitation. "What a waste of paper!"

"You misunderstood. It's not a quiz; this  _is_  a test, but it's to test your cognitive skills and auditory processing."

"... And I suppose I just failed, didn't I?"

"There is no win or lose with this test, Mr. QuackerJack. It's an  _assessment._ "

Despite the calm and patient tone, Jacky could begin to sense a smidge of exasperation in the voice. He looked at the examiner apologetically.

"... I'm sorry, but I just... I don't know why I'm having such trouble with figuring this out, I mean, it looks so easy in theory and I just  _can't seem to get it._ " He glanced sidewise at the paper, which was curling slightly where he'd scratched all the ink into it. "... You can carry an egg in a cup and in a van, but you can't carry it in a brick."

"A very interesting approach, I'll be honest."

"You can't open a brick." Jacky said as if that was obvious. "All a brick would do is smash the egg. The van could smash the egg too, but it can also carry it. You can smash the egg with a cup, I guess, but it's easier to carry it instead. I-It just makes sense." He insisted.

He heard the scratching of a pen on paper affixed to a clipboard. He flinched instinctively.

"It makes  _sense!_ " He tried to justify as if the noise had been an accusing challenge of contradiction. "Can you move an egg on a brick? Maybe not very well, but the point is that I'm supposed to mark the one that doesn't belong in the group in my opinion! I say it's the brick!"

"No one is saying that it's not a good answer."

"Then why does it sound like you're patronizing me!"

"Mr. QuackerJack, I'm sorry if this is upsetting you. Would you like if we save this for another day when you're feeling up to it?"

Jacky had been totally ready with a sharp response, but for some reason he found that it had died before it reached his tongue, leaving him with a half hearted mumble of uncertainty. He swallowed and dropped his gaze to the floor, staring at the odd patterns and shapes in the short pile fibers of the carpet, which looked like the flooring choice hadn't been changed out since the 1970s.

Truthfully, he was starting to feel fatigued from this whole activity, but he wasn't sure if it was because he had been working his poor healing brain too much on the assignment, or if it was because he was anxious from all these confusing tests he had to do.

"... That'd be nice." He said quietly, not looking up. "... Th-Thanks…"

He insisted that he could find his own way back to his room, mostly to preserve his dignity, but he quickly realized that he might have been mistaken. He found himself staring at the floorplan map and repeatedly tracing his finger along the path to the elevators. He had already come back to this map twice now, as he completely forgot his decided path once he turned the corner.

_What is going on? I can't believe I'm having trouble finding my room_

He decided that maybe it would be less disorienting to just use the stairs, as there usually was directional arrows to the separate wards. He tried his best to ignore the obvious stares he was getting, as he was absolutely certain that he must have appeared to be rather confused and perhaps a bit distressed to outside eyes.

He read the directory again as the noise of chatter and air conditioning units filled his ears. The sound of a pair of shoes squeaking across the floors and echoing down the halls jarred his attention away from his task and he felt almost defeated as he had to slide his finger along the listed names of the locations of the nearest wards.

His room number was not listed there.

He walked back into the stairwell and looked upwards with apprehension, seeing how many floors were above him. As far as he could recall, his room was on the third floor, or maybe the fourth.

He swallowed again and inhaled sharply. The stress of this whole thing was making his knees weak and his head dizzy. He stepped back into the lobby and sat down on the bench beside the directory and buried his face in his hands with a weary sigh.

_... Maybe if I wait long enough, they'll notice I'm lost and someone can find me and take me back to my room…_

"Jacky,  _is that you?_ " He heard a familiar voice say incredulously. This voice was neither Claire nor Darkwing.

He lifted his head from his hands and stared. Unless he was mistaken, he was looking at a very familiar weasel who seemed just as surprised as he was.

" _Ms. Mustela!_ " He gasped. "What are you doing here? I thought your office was in a different part of town!"

"QuackWerks disbanded, I had to relocate my practice to here." The weasel said, shifting the armload of binders to reach out a hand to place on his arm in an automatic gesture of familiarity, almost as if to confirm that she was indeed seeing him. "Jacky, oh my goodness, you disappeared and no one heard from you for ages, are you alright, where have you been!"

Jacky continued to stare at her like a deer caught in the headlights. While he was of course relieved to see a familiar and comforting face, he was still upset at being lost and seemingly incapable of navigating what should have been a simple pathway.

"... I don't know, Ms. Mustela…" He said truthfully. "... I… I fell out of a window and hit my head, I don't remember anything about when I went missing…" His voice cracked as it really just hit him now that it had been worded that way. "... Oh gosh, I was  _missing…_  I don't remember any of it, but I was still missing for months…"

Before he knew it, Ms. Mustela was already sitting beside him on the bench, and it didn't take long for her to begin tending to him as if this was one of their sessions from long ago as if it was second nature for her.

"You've hit your head? Jacky …" Ms. Mustela gave him a look that hurt him, but simply because she looked as though the thought had hurt her as well. "Are you alright? Does anyone know you're here?"

"... I've been here for about a month now, Ms. Mustela. Darkwing brought me in after I got hurt, but I still don't remember the exact details." Jacky carefully pushed her hand away from his head, as she was actively separating the fluff to look at the stitches like a concerned parent. "I've lost my memory of the four months of I was doing whatever I was doing. Apparently I landed hard, it was like a three story drop. Didn't anyone tell you anything about it?"

"Unfortunately, no, I have not been able to get in contact with anyone since QuackWerks disbanded, and most concerning is that your files were wiped from the systems in some peculiar glitch." Ms. Mustela frowned, still staring at him as if he'd just come back from the dead. "After you disappeared, all my attempts to find any hint as to what may have been the trigger was blocked, as if your files were suddenly made private. I didn't have a password, and it was like someone was covering something up." She blinked and made a small gasp. "What do you mean you fell out of a third story window!"

"I don't know, no one has explained everything leading to it, not even Claire, they just say that I fell but I feel like something doesn't add up about it." Jacky shrugged. "But everyone's being careful of talking about it, because they don't want to compromise any memories I actually kept, if any." He gave a small frown. "... You didn't see the news coverage on any of that? It was kind of a big deal, but they stopped letting me watch it because I kept freaking out. Apparently I had done something at the Whiffle Boy Entertainment office, but I don't directly remember what I did."

"... I… Jacky, I was hoping that that wasn't you." Ms. Mustela gave him a look that wasn't so much as disappointment, but rather disquieting sadness. "... I mean, of course it was, but… You said you don't have any memories of the incident at all?"

"No, Ms. Mustela. I fell and hit my head on the pavement, right here, right on this side." He gestured awkwardly at the side of his face in question. "I don't really remember anything between going back to work, and waking up here. I guess I snapped and I…" Jacky inhaled sharply and slumped backwards against the wall, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, shaking his head. "I really don't remember anything, and it's just terrible! I want something, anything I could say that would help explain any of this, but I don't know! I don't know what happened or why, and I'm so sorry!"

He sniffled loudly and gasped and tried his hardest to not lose his composure, not here, not in front of her, in front of everyone on this floor stealing a glance or two this way.

He felt her hand touch his shoulder in that familiar comforting gesture. He pulled his hands away from his eyes and looked at her shamefully before dropping his gaze to the floor.

"... Jacky, if it helps any, please know that I am so relieved that you're back with us. I was afraid that we'd lost you." Ms. Mustela said in a serious and level tone. "How are you doing despite all that? A head injury isn't something to shrug off, especially if it caused amnesia."

"... I don't have seizures, if that's what you mean." Jacky blinked, making a face as he thought about the question as well as he could. He wiped his wet eyes on the back of his hand roughly. "... I'm walking better than I did last month, and there's no nerve damage. I just… I'm having trouble with creating things, and I can't make Mr. Banana Brain talk right now."

"... Mr. Banana Brain?" Ms. Mustela seemed mildly confused, as she was fully aware of the demise of the beloved doll and Jacky's inability to completely replicate a new one.

"Oh! Of course, you wouldn't know yet!" There was a sudden change in Jacky's tone of voice, as though this particular thought was so amusing to him. "Someone found all the pieces and put him back together, and Claire got him for me! I just got him back this month! He's got all these obvious stitches and he's not as good as he used to look, but he's back." Jacky grinned widely before the smile faltered. "... The only problem is that I just can't do his voice anymore, so I guess he lost his voice now."

"... Well, Jacky, I'm happy to hear that you've found your old friend."

"It's nice to have a familiar face at night when Claire can't be here after hours…" Jacky said, looking towards one of the large wall sized windows, noting to himself that it looked to be about half past noon now. He scratched his head. "... Actually, speaking of 'familiar', I, um… this is a little embarrassing, but I'm kinda lost and I can't remember how to find my room right now."

"You're recovering from head trauma, it's possible that could be part of the reason why you're disoriented." Ms. Mustela said, frowning ever so slightly. "How come no one was accompanying you?"

"... I may have insisted that I could do this myself, and I've been trying to find my floor for at least twenty minutes." Jacky's face was a bit red from embarrassment. "... It's not so much that I can't read the directory, it's that I can't visualize it after I step away from one."

"Do you know which part of your head you hit, Jacky?"

He tapped a finger on the side of his face with stitching and gauze taped over it.

"I think they said something about 'temporal lobe', so yeah, this part here." Jacky said, shrugging slightly.

"No wonder you're having trouble with figuring out which way to go, that's where your memory and processing information happens, Jacky." Ms. Mustela said in a calm and sympathetic voice. "It's a common symptom, actually. What might help is if you find something that you can identify as maybe a landmark or figure out a path that you can follow every time that's easier to remember." She offered as an attempt for advice. "Maybe you can find a helpful phrase to run through to sort it better."

"... Is your office on this floor?"

"Yes, actually. This floor is where the psychiatrists work."

"'Ms. Mustela is on the yellow floor.'" Jacky said with a bit of rhythm to his speech. "Because all the floor levels have different color schemes. This one is yellow, and your name kind of matches that."

The weasel cracked a smile at that.

"That works, definitely." She said. "Do you remember anything about what room you're looking for?"

"... The number starts with three."

"Of course, you're staying in the neuro ward, that would make sense." Ms. Mustela said, carefully taking Jacky's hand and gently gesturing for him to stand. "Here, I'll take you to your floor, it's just above us."

"... Oh, dang, I was so close, then?" Jacky wasn't sure whether to laugh or snort in frustration. He stood from the bench awkwardly, still feeling a little disoriented, but not as anxious as he had been before this encounter. "... Thanks, Ms. Mustela."

"Just promise me next time that you'll be more careful, Jacky." She noticed that he seemed to be unconsciously favoring his good side, which became obvious why once they started walking. "... You're limping."

"It's not as bad as it was last month." Jacky said in an attempt to be reassuring. "... Really."

"Would you rather we take the elevator instead of the stairs? Would that be easier for you?"

"... I guess." Jacky said, before he looked to be thinking it over. "... The stairs made my head dizzy, so it's probably better to do it your way."

Whatever sour and defensive mood he had been in at the beginning of the afternoon during his examination seemed to have dissipated by now, and he was certain that it probably had something to do with Ms. Mustela. He liked her, in the sense that he liked how she was so patient with him and that he just felt safe speaking with her without judgment. In fact, he almost found it amusing how her first reaction to seeing him here was to reach for him as if to confirm that he wasn't an illusion. Just genuine raw concern.

They finally reached his floor and it took him a good long moment to process that Claire was there and was currently responding to the fact that Jacky had technically been MIA from the neuro ward floor for a good hour now. He blinked and it occurred to him that Claire had her arms around him and he was honestly getting frustrated with himself for not being able to keep up with what was happening fast enough.

"Jacky, where have you been! We've been trying to find you for an hour, you can't just disappear like that!"

"... I got lost." Jacky mumbled, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. He avoided her gaze and looked at the floor. "... I could read the directory, but I couldn't figure out how to find my way once I stepped away from it…"

He could tell that Claire was giving a concerned look, but he hadn't looked up to confirm that.

"... Jacky, are you alright? You've been gone for an hour." Claire asked, then took a moment to call out down the hall: "It's okay, we found him!"

"If you're concerned about his sense of direction, it's actually a common issue after a head injury like his." Ms. Mustela said. "Jacky told me about the injury to his temporal lobe, so he likely got disoriented on his way back to his room."

"Oh, Ms. Mustela! I didn't know you were here!"

"My office had to be relocated, but I'm stationed on the floor below this one." The weasel explained brightly. "I just happened to be coming back from lunch break when I found Jacky sitting on the beach beside the directory on that floor. You can imagine my surprise, as no one had really kept me up to date with what happened, but I'm so relieved to see him for myself."

"Jacky, how come you didn't ask for anyone to help you find your room? Are you alright?"

"... I thought it was easy enough for me to do it myself." Jacky said in a quiet voice, feeling his eyes start to burn as they began tearing up ever so slightly. "... I'm sorry…"

"I understand, but you have a brain injury, you can't be wandering around without some way for us to keep track of you."

"I  _know_  that! I just-! I wanted to do that by myself, I thought I could handle it, but I get it, I was wrong and I'm  _sorry!_ " Jacky didn't mean to snap like that at her, but he was just so frustrated that he just couldn't do something as simple as go from Point A to Point B.

It seemed like she certainly understood that in the underlying tone of his voice, as he felt her shift her grip on him to reach a hand to gently hold the side of his head in a comforting gesture. He let very few people touch his head, especially when his hat was absent from it, and Claire was one of those lucky few. He inhaled sharply and leaned into her as an unconscious reaction to the contact, which eased the heavy feeling in his chest away considerably.

"All that's important right now is that you're okay." Claire told him. "... Maybe next time, we can agree on some place for you to wait if you get lost like that again, so we can find you easier?"

He liked how she didn't make this whole thing seem like it was such a poor decision and mistake on his part. Her wording was almost never condescending.

"... When I gave up on trying to find my room, I just sat on the bench by a directory map, so maybe that could work? That's easy to remember."

"Okay then, from now on, if you get lost, just find the directory on that floor and wait there."

"I can do that." Jacky said quietly, before he gave a small smile, which grew into a bright grin. "I want to go get Mr. Banana Brain so Ms. Mustela can meet him."

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

Jacky felt like his heart was pounding in his head, and his lungs just couldn't seem to get enough air no matter how hard he gasped. The dim orange-ish lights from the hallway cast a warm glow from the right, but the moon in the night sky peered through the blinds and threw contrasting sharp lines of bright on left, creating a confusing zigzag of visual light sensory information that he had difficulty trying to process in his groggy state.

The calm nature of the hospital ward at night only made his quiet sounds of distress seem distant but deafening in his own ears.

Nightmare.

He'd just woken up from a nightmare. He couldn't recall much detail of it, as it was steadily fading from his memory as time passed, but the sensation of terror still lingered over him like a bad head cold. He had these often, apparently, but it was rare for him to wake up from one on his own accord, as often the case was that one had to rouse him a particularly bad one themselves (rare ones where he'd actively be screaming in his sleep), otherwise he'd eventually calm down once the feeling of unease and fear faded as he entered another REM sleep stage.

Most of the time, he'd forget they'd even happened, as it was not unlike a child having night terrors. It was perfectly normal, he was told, given what he'd been through over the years, and it was almost anticipated as a likely "complication" of his head injury as of late. He simply had an overactive mind, even at rest.

He absolutely hated that he couldn't call out for Claire at this time of night, as visiting hours were well past over. Claire always seemed to know how to calm him down from a rather frightening dream, even if he didn't really remember it afterwards. She never brought it up in the morning unless he suspected it and asked her to confirm his suspicions, so he had the feeling that there was more incidents than he was actively aware of.

Apparently, a recurring element in his forgettable nightmares, based on what he'd been told over time from his shouts in his sleep, was drooling monsters and sharp toothed ducks, no doubt in reference to Paddywhack and… well, that horrid doppelganger of Darkwing that had really been the catalyst for Jacky's declining emotional and mental stability over the past few years.

The red glow of a digital clock or charging indicator for a phone seen through tired eyes always seemed to be a trigger for that, and Jacky suspected that why Claire had switched the old clock radio in the living room to a newer one with slick blue numbers a week before he'd snapped. Heck, he could recall that the last Christmas season, he'd insisted feverishly that they either get rid of the red lights on the strings, or at the very least cover them, because the sight of them out of the corner of his eyes made his skin crawl in ways he could not explain.

This troubled dream he'd just woken up from, however, he was absolutely certain that he'd been falling. Just falling.

He held a hand to his chest as he groped the space beside him with his other hand, trying to find his familiar little plush buddy as an item of comfort, which he snatched up and clutched close to his chest in a vicelike grip, eyes squeezed shut and a series of quiet whimpers escaping him as his body was wracked with post adrenaline tremors.

_... The room's cold, that's all. They keep the thermostat set at cold and barely give you enough to stay warm…_

He tried to use that as an explanation to himself as to why he was shivering, trying to think about it more logically. And the reason why he was unnerved  _had_  to be because it was night and quiet and dark.

And that he was alone.

_... That's not really true. I've got Lumpy and Mr. Banana Brain. I can trust Mr. Banana Brain… I'm still trying to figure out what Lumpy's deal is, though…_

Jacky tried to control his rapid wheezing by focusing on carefully breathing in the faint scent of cedar sawdust that drifted from his doll as he squeezed the banana plush. He opened his eyes and the cross-eyed nature of them made his vision doubled, and he could make out two very close, very blurry Mr. Banana Brain faces.

For reasons he could not explain, Jacky felt like a lead weight had dropped in his gut and a sense of panic gripped him in such a way that he flung the doll across the room with a strangled cry of fright. Mr. Banana Brain ragdolled into a picture frame on the opposite wall, and left it askew on its hanger as the doll dropped onto the backrest of a chair, slid off and onto the seating cushion in a tangle of limbs, staring back at Jacky with his perpetually innocent and goofy smile.

Jacky stared at his banana buddy in abject terror as another bad case of the shakes had swept over him, completely baffled as to why he'd reacted as such. He could never recall a time in which Mr. Banana Brain himself had stirred up an intense feeling of apprehension and horror. Even when Mr. Banana Brain had been under the control of Paddywhack, Jacky still didn't hold it against the banana buddy, so all feeling of horror of the incident was directed towards the large clownish monster instead.

So why then, why did the sight of Mr. Banana Brain's face this close to him made Jacky feel like he had been in danger?

_... Must be the light… All this confusing feedback of orange and harsh light, and being half asleep and on edge probably made my brain all confused…_

Of course, Jacky wasn't sure he totally believed that. He carefully slid off the bed and padded his way to the chair to retrieve the doll, thinking to himself about how the cold tiled floor chilled his feet as he scooped the doll up and hurried back to his bed quietly before anyone was alerted that he was still awake at this hour. He wasn't in the mood for questions.

He climbed back into bed and this time made sure to face towards the observation window instead of the window shades, so to keep the confusing zigzags of moonlight to a visual minimum should he half open his eyes before daylight again.

He tucked Mr. Banana Brain under his chin, keeping the doll close but away from his line of sight.

He'd bother with sorting that out in the morning, if he could remember to, that is.

* * *

"... This was made of rayon, it's dry clean only." Jacky said quietly, handling the old, battered but familiar cowl in his hands. "... The stains won't ever come out now, it's ruined."

"Unfortunately, the only way I was going to be allowed to bring this in is if it had been cleaned, since this is supposed to be a germ free environment." Darkwing said apologetically. "Even if I'd been able to get them out, the fabric's been compromised anyway from the landing."

"Yes…" Jacky said without much enthusiasm, staring at the abrasion in the fabric that was likely the point of impact. There was also several small cuts into it, as if something sharp and little had sliced into the fibers. "... There was a lot of glass, wasn't it..?"

"Huh?"

"I fell through a window, there was probably a lot of shards, a lot of them between me and the pavement." Jacky looked up and tilted his head a little. "I'm sure that partly why I needed stitches, I probably fell on the pieces on the ground. These holes here in the hat are clean cut, the pavement alone couldn't have don't that."

"I honestly don't know, there wasn't too much time between finding you on the ground and getting you here to really waste." Darkwing looked away, upwards at a corner in the ceiling as if purposely avoiding eye contact. "I told you, you were in pretty bad shape, the main concern was getting you help."

Jacky gave the hat a quick shake to smooth it out, but there just seemed to be a stubborn crease in it that he was certain hadn't been there before, or if it had been, he'd never noticed before now (a good assumption, as it was on the back and he'd rarely seen the back of his hat for years). The bells on the dingle-dangles gave a tired sounding jingle, and he wondered briefly if it was because of the age and condition of the bells.

The rest of his old jester costume didn't seem to fare any better. The frilled collar had his dried blood marring it's white surface with a large brownish stain, and the spotted sleeve looked as though it had been roughly rubbed with coarse sandpaper near the shoulder. His hat and sleeves were made of rayon, which was an affordable fabric that gave off a certain kind of glimmering sheen when maintained properly, but one snag could make the whole thing look unkempt and shoddy.

Jacky's natural talent as a toy maker for all manner of craft, particularly as a seamster, meant that he could have easily repaired or stitched up a new crisp costume with little effort, but that was then. Now, as he was becoming aware of the startling possibility of his new hindrances resulting from his brain injury, it was unlikely if he could ever restore the costume, much less craft a new replica.

Why, though? Why would he want to now, now that the entire QuackerJack persona had been so horribly tainted by his months long psychotic episode? No good memories remained with the costume; it was symbolic of shattered dreams and a lost soul.

… But, then again… He  _did_  meet Claire while he still wore his hat. She never made a snide comment about it, nor of how he would unconsciously grab at the dingle-dangles whenever he felt so much as a twinge of anxiety, not even tried to force him to take it off until he felt comfortable doing so.

Jacky carefully folded the tattered costume and pulled open the bedside drawer to set them inside.

"So, you're keeping it, then?"

"Of course, it has sentimental value, Darkwing." Jacky pushed the drawer closed with a quick jostle (on account of the darn thing getting stuck on the track), and looked sidewise at the Masked Mallard. "There's bad stuff, but there's also good stuff to it. I'm just not ready to get rid of it." He paused, trying to read Darkwing's body language. "... What? You think I'm going to relapse or something because I have it? It's a ruined costume, Darkwing. It can't do anything."

"I just figured after what happened, you'd want to get rid of it."

"An interesting thing I learned while being destitute; you can't afford to waste anything." There was almost a challenging edge in Jacky's tone as he gave the drawer a final shove to get it aligned. "It's honestly amusing how much good stuff people trash because they think it's junk just because they can't seem to figure out how to reuse it. Things I could put to better use, like those electronic components that got wasted on game consoles that got chucked every time a fancy, shiny new brain melter ensnares another poor soul. The costume's ruined, but there's still some use I could get out of the salvaged scraps."

"And you still don't remember anything about what happened, then?" Darkwing prodded, much like he had done nearly every visit thus far. It was almost tiresome to Jacky as to how persistent he was.

"Not a single thing." Jacky said truthfully, giving a shrug. "Blank. Absolutely blank. And not for lack of trying, mind you, because I really am." He paused, then added: "... Although, the strangest thing happened to me the other night."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Jacky nodded, frowning slightly. "... Mr. Banana Brain scared me." Darkwing gave him a rather confusing look, and it took Jacky a moment to realize how odd his wording sounded in that context. "Oh! I mean that the way I saw him startled me. Actually, that explanation doesn't make much sense either, does it..?"

"Why don't you start over from the beginning of this incident, because the last time I heard about that doll doing things on its own, it was-"

"Oh, oh no, of  _course_  not, no!" Jacky cut him off once it clicked as to what Darkwing thought he must have been referring to. "No, you got rid of that cursed thing, didn't you? No, I mean that Mr. Banana Brain spooked me because… I don't know, exactly. He was really close to my face and I just felt scared seeing him look that… big? I don't know, but it's really weird because I can't explain it."

There was a silence that followed his statement. Not a stunned silence. Jacky stared at the shorter duck.

"... Darkwing." Jacky said in a forced calm tone. "What happened with Mr. Banana Brain that night?"

"What?" Darkwing certainly sounded thrown of guard, as if he hadn't expected the sudden change of conversation. "What do you mean?"

"When I fell. What happened with Mr. Banana Brain that night?" Jacky narrowed his eyes. He held up an arm and gestured to it with the other hand. "I might not remember a thing, but I can read context clues. I had bruises on both my arms that looked like hand marks, big hand marks. How does someone get hand shaped bruises on both of their arms if they fell out of a window! Glass cuts, Darkwing, it doesn't bruise! You know what happened, you were there! Why won't you just tell me what happened to me! I don't understand!"

Darkwing's nonverbal response was a simple, uncomfortable step backwards, and that only fueled Jacky's panic stricken agitation further.

" _Don't run away from me!_ " Jacky screamed, mostly in anger, but there was a distinct twinge of fear underlining his tone now. He balled his hands and stomped his feet. "I have a right to know! I don't understand why you're keeping it from me! I don't understand why you won't tell me! I don't-! I don't under-! I don't get it! I don't understand why you just won't tell me what exactly happened even though you were there! I'm not stupid! I'm not! I'm  _not!_ "

It had become somewhat of a practice to simply let Jacky peeter out from an outburst, mostly because trying to defuse the situation often led to an escalation in his agitated state (although the orderlies on the ward floor kept a cautious eye and ear on him during such an event should it start to cause harmful physical distress). A symptom of his brain injury that aggravated his preexisting mood swings, it was something he didn't really have much control over to begin with.

"... I really think it'd be easier to explain if you would just finish watching those tapes." Darkwing said in a small voice.

"I don't  _want_  to look at those horrible things!" Jacky still hadn't lowered his voice. "Did you forget that I apparently massacred a Crimebot with my bare hands because someone said Ne-! S-Someone said-!" He really seemed like he couldn't get the words out now, as the offending name continued to die on his tongue.

"Negaduck?"

There was a loud howling wail of fear that escaped Jacky as he grabbed at his head feathers in rough handfuls.

"Are you daft!  _Don't say that name!_  Are you  _trying_  to make me lose it again!" He shouted at Darkwing desperately, as if the mere utterance of the name would cause the owner of it to suddenly manifest out of thin air in a cloud of smoke.

"What did he do to you, QuackerJack?" Despite the panicked energy of the clownish duck being almost enough to feel a change in the air, Darkwing himself seemed unreasonably calm. He folded his arms and looked at Jacky, who was still gawking at him as his fingers slowly let go of his head feathers so his arms could drop. "What happened?"

"... You want me to answer your question… when you haven't so much as answered mine?"

"If we're ever going to make any sense of all this, we need to know all we can, including that." Darkwing said. "It's very clear that you can't stand to so much as hear a passing mention of him, and this sort of reaction wasn't this strong before. What did he do to you?"

"... I don't remember." This was the first time Jacky actually sounded far from genuine on the statement. There was a sort of detached tone seeping into his voice now and he shook his head almost too quickly.

"You do."

"Nope, I don't, I have a brain injury, remember? I have amnesia. Don't remember a thing."

"This happened well before you snapped, you're honestly a terrible liar."

"Oh, no, I really don't, nope, not a single thing, nuh-uh."

"... Okay, then." Darkwing didn't change his expression. "Fine. Maybe if we're lucky, you'll be able to avoid a malingering charge added to all this."

"... What?"

"Your amnesia affects your memory of that four months' time. Your last confirmed contact with Nega-!"

" _DON'T! SAY! THAT! NAME!_ " Jacky shrieked loudly, bringing his hands back to his head once more, this time to cover his ears. "ALL I ASK IS THAT YOU STOP SAYING IT! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR THAT HORRIBLE FOUL NAME NEVER EVER AGAIN!"

"... Alright, just calm down for a second." Darkwing seemed to realize he might have overstepped a boundary a bit too easily. He noticed that Jacky was trembling hard enough to make his teeth chatter audibly. "I'm just trying to help."

"... Demented… you're demented if you think that was even the least bit helpful…" Jacky mumbled hoarsely, rubbing a hand on his chest as he leaned heavily against the visitor chair in the room. He swallowed and took a sharp inhale of air, glaring at Darkwing. "... I suppose this is a good building to have a heart attack in, oof…"

"Unfortunately, that wasn't a very good sign." Darkwing scratched his head. "If you have such a strong reaction to that name, and you lash out, it's just going to be back to square one on trying to plead your case."

"... Well, it's simple, then, we just ban that terrible name from ever leaving someone's mouth."

"That's not how it works. Besides…" Darkwing clenched his jaw and gave a bit of a grimace at the thought. "That's not the only word to trigger a violent reaction out of you."

"So?"

Darkwing heaved a sigh before saying without missing a beat: "Whiffle Boy Video Games."

"... Shut up, that's not fair to do that to me."

"And it's not just the words, it's the mere sight of the things." Darkwing shook his head. "Everyone knows this. You've been extremely vocal about your hatred of those things in the past, to the point of being an absolute menace to the city, endangering countless lives, and even endangering yourself without a second thought."

"... To be fair, I wasn't exactly in a right state back then. Bankrupt, crazy and mad, it's not like I had anything else to lose at the time." Jacky looked at the floor to break eye contact. "... I mean, did it occur to you at any point that I was practically living in the sewers? I lost my house when I lost the toy factory. Those capers weren't just about getting my toys back on the market and laying waste to those brain rotting machines. I was trying to  _survive._ "

"You could have-"

"Could have  _what?_ " Jacky snapped back before Darkwing could finish his sentence. "Did you forget that I was completely dismissed by everyone as just a delusional clown? No one took me seriously, said I was being unreasonable about this new market rival, that I should either adapt or leave well enough alone. I had a nervous breakdown and everyone just left me alone. No one looked for me, they just said that I went out of business and left it at that. Once I didn't belong anymore, everyone just turned their backs when I asked for help."

"... Oh."

" _'Oh'?_  Understatement of the gosh dang year!" Jacky gave a mock applause. "Of course, I'm sure you wouldn't completely understand. I'm sure you were welcomed back with open arms when you came back to St. Canard. I'm sure you had someone waiting for you, a nice home, and not have to swipe handouts because your checking account was depleted with all the lawsuits and bills and debt. Of course, you don't have a reason to hate your precious little 'Whiffster', and I honestly think it's an absolute shame that you can be so much fun to mess around with and still be ensnared by that brain melting fallacy you call a hero!"

"... Ooooh, boy."

"... Is that really all you have to say to this?"

"What did you expect me to say?"

"I don't know, I'm just a bit angry at you, I guess."

"Angry at  _me?_ "

"If you hadn't disappeared like that, I'm kind of sure all this wouldn't have happened and I'd still have my memory intact!"

"If none of that had happened, then you wouldn't have anything to forget about."

"Ha, so you admit it!"

"Where are you going with this, honestly?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, but it's making me feel a little less angry." Jacky admitted in a small voice.

"Good, then maybe you'll be able to answer my question now." Darkwing folded his arms again.

"... You're not going to stop on that, are you?" Jacky said quietly, looking at Darkwing, who continued to hold that waiting expression. Jacky heaved a weary sigh. "... He killed Mr. Banana Brain."

"I already know that, you've said that. I want to know what he did to  _you._ "

"... He killed Mr. Banana Brain… because I asked too many questions."

"... Too many questions?"

"He said he figured out who you really were, and I got too curious. Who wouldn't have?" Jacky shook his head with a hand to it, and finally took a seat in that chair. "The next thing I know, I'm holding a foot in my hands and Mr. Banana Brain's sawdust is all over the asphalt and his eyeballs are like three feet apart, staring at me."

"... You know, it's a good thing you're talking about a doll, because honestly that would be a very startling description otherwise."

"Oh, I'm so glad you're finding solace in my misery, I was afraid that you'd find this recounting tale of the absolute shattering of what remained of any stability I had left absolutely horrifying." There was a bit of a breathless, hyperactive tone in his strangely calm voice, as if Jacky was on the verge of shouting again. "Eyeballs on the asphalt, Darkwing. Googly eyeballs. Mr. Banana Brain's eyeballs. Does it really matter if he's a doll or not? You don't seem to mind giving him his own wanted poster. Now, please, this is very stressful for me, I want to get this over with so you'll tell me how I got those bruises on my arms!"

"You seem to be handling telling me this better than I expected for all that being emotionally traumatizing."

"... I already went through the grieving process, Darkwing, it was exhausting, and I hardly did much outside of QuackWerks. And besides, I got Mr. Banana Brain back, it just doesn't hurt as much anymore to think about it." Jacky flashed a weak smile, but once again, his eyes looked tired. He sighed again, and this time it sounded heavy. "... He said I wasn't 'mean' enough."

"... Really, is that all?" Darkwing shook his head and made the mistake of not quite understanding why that would have been affecting Jacky in that context. "I thought he might have-"

Darkwing's words were cut off when he felt a rough shove push his several stumbling steps away from where he had been standing seconds ago. He blinked and looked back at Jacky, who was standing and appearing to be rather livid now.

"He didn't take me seriously, Darkwing." He said in probably the most forcibly calm tone Darkwing had probably heard ever escape that mouth. "He never took me seriously, I was just some clown he could just step all over. He never took me seriously. No one took me seriously, you don't take me seriously right now!"

Another shove. Darkwing had to admit that he didn't expect QuackerJack to be able to get sort of leverage by pure force, but it was probably due to his taller stature and the fact that Darkwing's stance wasn't exactly stable in this current position. He narrowed his eyes and shifted where his feet were so he didn't stumble backwards.

"You're being immature right now."

" _And that's what it's always been about, hasn't it! Because I can't function like a proper adult, I deserve all this! It's my fault I can't keep up with the times, and I should just shut up and adapt!_ " Jacky screamed and continued to shove at Darkwing with both hands, but admittedly with more difficulty once the Masked Mallard had changed to a more stable stance. "... Stupid, stupid, stupid…" Each shove got less enthusiastic until he was eventually just standing there dejectedly, head hanging and arms held to his side limply. "... Stupid loser, worthless stupid clown, stupid, stupid, stupid knob, stupid, stupid, stupid…" Jacky mumbled, catching his fluffy head feathers in a shaky grip.

Darkwing blinked, taken aback for a second at the sudden stream of words. Well, gee…

"... QuackerJack." He said in a tone different than he'd been using so far, almost sounding like he was trying to sound softer. He practically had to stand on his toes in order to be level with the battered toy maker, who was standing in a hunched way, eyes wide and staring blankly at the tiled floor. A hand touched a flinching shoulder. "... Jacky. I want you to be completely honest with me. Did Negaduck make you feel useless?"

Sharp inhale, feathers prickled. Jacky dug his fingers deeper into the fluff on his head, accidentally plucking a few with a jerky twitch, and the little feathers fluttered to the floor.

"... I wasn't mean enough…" He squeaked. There was pause before he forced a harsh laugh, snorting through his nostrils while flashing a weak grin. "... He's right, you know. I've got no powers, I didn't have the spine to challenge how he treated us, and I just stood there and watched him hurt Mr. Banana Brain. I didn't have the nerve to try and leave because at the very least, I'd get some cut of the pay, no matter how small. I didn't have a lot of options at the time, but I could at least try to put my skills to some use, and at least try not to starve…"

"Well, I admit that isn't exactly a good situation, but larceny is still larceny." Darkwing said, flashing a grimace at the idea. "It's still breaking the law."

"I didn't have a choice!" Jacky gestured furiously. "I was broke, flat broke! I don't get why that's so hard to understand!"

"I do, but it doesn't excuse-!"

"Are you here to help me, or are you just gonna keep chiseling away at my logic? This is getting tiresome."

" _You're_  getting tired of this? You're the one doing the instigating!"

"I just want you to tell me how I got those bruises on my arms! Certainly it can't be that hard!"

"All I'm saying is that you need to watch the rest of the tapes, otherwise you just won't believe me."

"How hard is it for you to answer one question? I swear, you're stubborn." Jacky rolled his eyes. "I can't imagine why you'd try to use that as leverage to make me watch those horrible things, it's not nice at all, Darkwing."

There was yet another momentary silence from Darkwing before he made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

"... Alright." He said in a level tone. "What would you say if I told you that you got those bruises from your little doll over there?"

"... Well, I guess I'd say that was absurd, because Mr. Banana Brain is filled with sawdust and nothing about him is shaped like giant hands." Jacky narrowed his eyes and frowned slightly. "Where are you going with this?"

"And what would you say if I told you that you were injured because of a machine backfire?"

"That's a more reasonable answer, but that wouldn't explain the hand shaped bruises."

"And the backfire led to a confrontation where Mr. Banana Brain would be responsible for what led to your accident?"

Jacky's eyes widened in surprise, and he blinked before he shook his head roughly.

"How  _dare_  you!" Once more, it was obvious that Jacky simply didn't believe it, nor did he understand why he was being told this. "Mr. Banana Brain would never hurt me! I don't know what you're doing, Darkwing, but that's just a low blow and I don't appreciate it!"

Darkwing had expected this sort of response. He didn't change his expression, and simply stepped to the cardboard box (which he'd used to bring the tattered jester costume to this visit) he'd set on the counter beside the window, and shoved a hand in it.

"Jacky, does this look familiar to you at all?" He said calmly and he extracted something and held it up, giving it a quick shake to direct the clownish duck's attention towards it

Jacky stared and Darkwing made a mental note of the apprehension, confusion and unfamiliarity crossing his face.

"... What… What is  _that?_ " Jacky seemed to recoil in shock. "Darkwing, what is that, where did you get that-that thing!"

"Well, Jacky, this is a Mr. Banana Brain." Darkwing said, setting the offending thing on the counter top. "You made this in an attempt to replace the original after you lost him. In fact, this is the second known attempt."

" _There's more?_ " Jacky squeaked, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the grinning banana monstrosity. He didn't like the way it stared at him. "Darkwing, I… I don't remember that. I really don't remember that thing at all, I don't know where it came from, I remember all my toys I've made and I don't remember ever making anything like this!"

"Unfortunately, you did. You brought this with you when you attacked the Whiffle Boy Entertainment office." Darkwing cringed internally when any remaining color that had managed to stay in Jacky's face so far had left him.

"No. No, no, no, no, that's not a Mr. Banana Brain, Mr. Banana Brain is supposed to be a cloth doll, a rag doll, he's supposed to be friendly, maybe a bit of a trouble maker, but he certainly doesn't look like  _that!_ " Jacky shook his head, still eyeing the strange thing with no hint of recognition but all the same looking as though he was quite fearful for his well-being. "Darkwing, I don't like how it's looking at me, it looks so sharp and mean! Get rid of it! I don't like it! Get it away!"

Darkwing quickly shoved the harsh looking doll back in the cardboard box and folded the flaps in a quick motion to close it. Jacky was trembling as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice over his head, eyes darting around wildly, a wheezing noise escaping him again. It wasn't exactly clear if his face was wet from sweat or tears, or perhaps some combination of the two.

Oh, dear…

"Jacky? QuackerJack?" Darkwing approached him cautiously, hands held up in what he'd hoped appeared to be a non-threatening gesture. "Hey, I put it away, it's fine, it's gone."

There was a twitch settling in Jacky's face now, and the wheezing quickly became full on gasping for air. His eyes were very wide and his feather were ruffling down his neck and along his shoulders. He looked as though he was being stared down by a predator, and felt like his well-being was in danger.

"Alright, it's very clear that something about that thing set off a reaction in you, and I'm sure you're very confused right now." Darkwing tried to speak calmly, not entirely sure what to expect now. Would Jacky burst into tears? Would he start screaming? Would he collapse in a heap in the floor in a faint? Preferably not that one, it was important to reduce the chances of him hitting his head again. Darkwing put a hand on the shaking duck's shoulders. "I was just trying to confirm that you really have no mem-!"

Darkwing was cut off when he was sucker punched in the jaw, momentarily stunned as he stared upwards as the ceiling while something was pulled from his coat pocket. He shook his head roughly and directed his attention back at Jacky, and nearly fell over when he realized exactly what had happened.

Jacky was shakily backing into a corner and holding the Gas Gun out in front of him in a not-so-steady grip with both hands, eyes fearful, teeth clenched in a grimace. He shook his head repeatedly, and kept his gaze trained on Darkwing, although it was obvious right away that he wasn't seeing clearly.

Darkwing threw his hands in the air and glanced at the observation window to make a subtle gesture to communicate that he wanted to try and defuse this situation on his own.

"... You fire a tranq dart at him, and we're going to lose any trust we have been building over the last two months…" Darkwing said in a low voice, watching Jacky very carefully.

"No, no, no, no, no, not gonna, I don't, you can't, can't, get away, get away…" There was a desperate edge to Jacky's voice, and there was just no way to tell what was running through his mind at the moment.

"Jacky, I need you to give me my Gas Gun back, it's not yours." Darkwing said calmly, reaching a hand out for it as he approached the terrified toy maker with caution. "You're scaring people right now, and I don't think you really want to do that."

The Gas Gun was quickly shoved against the front of Darkwing's beak. Jacky had his eyes squeezed shut, head turned away and was whimpering under his breath.

"... Guh-get away…" He stammered weakly. He sniffled loudly, tightening his grip in the handle. "... I'm not… you c-can't…"

"Jacky, I don't know what you think is happening right now, but I want you to give that back and we'll talk it out." Darkwing said, slowly lifting a finger toward the Gas Gun to push it away from his face. "No one is trying to hurt you, but if you don't calm down, I won't be able to stop them from sedating and restraining you, and if I know anything for certain about you, you don't like being held back."

Darkwing knew that the Gas Gun was loaded with a smoke cartridge, so there wasn't necessarily much danger behind it per se, but getting beaned in the face with a metal canister at point blank would leave quite a bruise either way.

Maybe he was starting to get through to the poor clownish duck with his words, because there was a momentary falter in how Jacky gripped the Gas Gun, followed by a harsh gasp as his eyes snapped open. Darkwing frowned when he realized that Jacky's eyes were not unlike the way they had been the night of his accident; glazed and dazed.

"... Jacky… Do you know where you are right now?" Darkwing spoke as if addressing a child, trying his best the keep the chaotic energy of the situation to a minimum. "Jacky, can you tell me where you are right now?"

"... Y-you're hurting him…".

"Jacky, can you tell me where you are right now?" Darkwing repeated, sounding more urgent.

"... Stop…"

"Jacky, tell me where you are right now."

" _GIVE HIM BACK, NEGADUCK!_ " Jacky shrieked suddenly, which made Darkwing jump at the change in volume.

"QuackerJack, snap out of it, it's me, I'm Darkwing!" He grabbed Jacky's shoulders and shook the distraught duck, and flinched when it was not unlike shaking a ragdoll, as Jacky didn't seem to register what was happening right away as his head rocked back and forth with the motions. "Wake up!"

It took a good twenty seconds to finally get a coherent reaction out of him, and that particular reaction was confused shouting and flailing.

"Let me go! What do you think you're doing, Darkwing, you're hurting my neck!"

"Oh, thank goodness, you're back." Darkwing managed to sound deadpan while expressing his relief.

"Back? I haven't gone anywhere, I don't know what-" Jacky snapped before he blinked and opened his eyes a bit wider, looking mildly concerned. "... Um, what are we doing on this side of the room?"

"Well, you see, it's a bit of a funny story. Not 'ha ha' funny, but-"

"Darkwing, why am I holding your Gas Gun in my hand?" Jacky said in a slightly more concerned tone than his last sentence.

"Okay, before you start to freak out-"

"Darkwing,  _what did I just do!_ "

"I didn't mean for you to freak out right now, I was supposed to explain-"

"Get it away from me, I don't like this!"

Darkwing had a few seconds to register that Jacky had thrown the Gas Gun to the floor in repulsion, and less than that to respond to what was about to happen now that the Gas Gun deployed the loaded canister of smoke.

"YOU ABSOLUTE FOOL, GET DOWN!" Darkwing shouted as the cartridge ricocheted off the walls about four times, and hit the sweet spot in the baseboards that launched it directly at the overhead fire sprinkler system.

Jacky simply stared just as the object hit the walls, and didn't react immediately when Darkwing grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him to the floor, out of the trajectory of the thing, and threw his cape over both their heads to filter the smoke until it dissipated once the sprinklers ran for a good minute. Both ducks were on the floor in a prone position, with Jacky holding his hands over his head.

The sprinkler system all along the ward went off, followed by the emergency alarms, perhaps a bit of confused and annoyed screaming, and at least four individuals trying to evacuate while carrying armfuls of soggy belongings rushed by the room's door.

"... Oops."

"Yes, Jacky. ' _Oops_ '."

* * *

Admittedly, Claire had no idea what to say about this. There were three fire trucks outside the hospital building, and she probably shouldn't have been too surprised to see that Darkwing and Jacky were both seated on a bench beside a hedge, saturated with water, with the latter of them hugging himself with a large fluffy towel and shivering slightly despite sitting in the sunshine.

Both of them wore very identical expressions that seemed to indicate they both were frustrated with each other.

"... Should I ask?"

"Darkwing's not allowed to bring his gadgets here anymore."

"... That just opens up even more questions."

"There was… an incident." Darkwing grunted, squeezing water out of his hat. "... Things got a bit out of hand, neither of us handled it as well as we should have, and now half the ward has to be squeegeed."

"... I still have questions."

"Darkwing started it!" Jacky snapped, pointing at him. "He wouldn't tell me exactly where those bruises on my arms came from even though he was there and would know!"

"... In his defense, he's been asked to not try to force your memory to work." Claire had a feeling this was probably part of the reason why they were outside at the moment anyway.

"Besides, I was just here to return your belongings to you!" Darkwing shouted at Jacky, despite being right beside him on the bench. "I figured you would have been glad to get your stuff back!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I have no idea what that thing is in that box! It's not one of my designs!" Jacky shouted back.

"And the water and fire trucks are here because..?" Claire interjected calmly.

Jacky's face flushed red suddenly and he looked at the ground as if embarrassed greatly. He settled into the towel with a bit of an uncomfortable expression.

"... There was an incident…" He mumbled.

"Jacky, are you alright?" Claire said, putting a hand on his back. "What happened?"

Before Jacky could answer, Darkwing spoke first.

"Bit of a funny story, really. Not 'ha ha' funny, mind you, but anyway, there was a bit of a disagreement, and my Gas Gun fell and hit the floor and set off the smoke cartridge that set off the sprinklers." He said, carefully avoiding the key detail that was the catalyst.

Jacky stared at him with a bit of a frown. Claire noticed that right away.

"Jacky, is that what happened?"

"... Well, it's not  _incorrect,_  but it's not everything." Jacky shook his head and looked back at the ground. "... Just tell her what I did, there no way we can keep that a secret, it's probably on the security tapes anyway."

"... Jacky, what happened?"

"Like I said, there was an incident." Darkwing said, looking upwards and scratching his head. "More specifically, Jacky got confused and thought he was elsewhere, and grabbed the Gas Gun."

"Jacky! Please tell me you're alright at least!"

"... I'm not hurt, if that's what you mean…" He mumbled, burying his face in his hands. "... I didn't hurt anyone either, I don't know what happened other than I freaked out badly and had to be talked down, but Darkwing said I just didn't know where I was at the moment…"

"... What caused that? Are you sure you're alright?"

"... I cracked." Jacky said quietly, perhaps too calmly considering the situation. "... What's happening to my brain..?" He added in a somewhat desperate tone, shaking his head slowly. "... Why can't I remember these things..?"

"Jacky, you're still recovering from a brain injury, memory problems are part of it."

"... Am I recovering? I don't feel any better than yesterday or the day before or last week…" He said, looking up again. "... I really don't know what just happened today, I mean, I don't know why I'd just do that… I'm so tired of not being sure of anything anymore..."

There was a silence between the trio before Claire took a seat beside him in the bench, keeping a hand on his back, but now in the motion of gentle swirls. A small visible shudder spread throughout Jacky not unlike the sweet spot being found behind a dog's ear, even going as far as to curl his toes and ruffle his feathers. He squeaked, then clapped his hands over his beak as his face got red again.

"... Okay, I'm sure I probably like being scratched like that, but Claire,  _not in front of Darkwing,_  it's embarrassing!"

"It made you feel better, didn't it?"

"... Well, yeah, but still!"

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we explore some of the obstacles Jacky now has, and also... Well, if I say anything now, it's gonna spoil the chapter before you read it. :P

“I gotta say, this feels really weird…” Jacky said, folding his hands together as he wiggled his foot idly. “I'm not used to your office looking like this, Ms. Mustela.”

Jacky was laying on a couch, and he wasn't sure if he preferred it to the familiar large chair he'd grown accustomed to from prior visits. He did not particularly like when things were suddenly different after a sudden lapse of time in his perspective.

“I had to make some changes once I relocated, Jacky.” Ms. Mustela explained as she flipped through some folders in a cabinet before extracting a strangely thin one. “... Unfortunately, most of your files are still missing, so your folder isn't as thorough as it had been before, but at least we're familiar with each other.”

“Yes, Ms. Mustela.” Jacky agreed quietly, twiddling his thumbs. There's was a definite awkward air hovering around him, and he fidgeted ever so slightly. “... So, still no word on how those placebos came about?”

“With QuackWerks disbanded, I'm afraid that it will be very unlikely if we'll ever have an answer to that.” The weasel shook her head. “At the very least, I'm just glad that you're back with us.”

“Don't say it like that, it sounds like I died or something.” Jacky tilted his head back to look at her.

“How would you rather we refer to that as then?” Ms. Mustela said earnestly.

Jacky closed his mouth for a few seconds and thought to himself before saying in a small voice: “... I dunno, but it's just really weird to hear about it from other perspectives, because as far as it seems from my point of view, I woke up four months later without remembering even falling asleep. At least when I went crazy the first time, I still had my wits about me, so to speak. Things made sense to me, even if it didn't to anyone else. I don't like being clueless.”

“No one really does, Jacky.” Ms. Mustela said, thumbing through the small stack of papers in the folder before sighing. “... I'm afraid that your last sessions aren't recorded in this folder, this is really getting to be too fishy.”

“I'll say. It's like there's some conspiracy.” Jacky chimed in, sounding a bit more amused than he should have. “Gosh, I wonder who I must have annoyed so much that they're trying to wipe me off the face of the earth?”

“I'm not sure, but at least now that QuackWerks has been disbanded, hopefully we'll have better security measures to make sure something like this won't happen again…” Ms. Mustela made a note on one of the papers with a pen. “I don't know how they managed to get such a monopoly on everything as fast as they did, but it's clear that whoever was behind it didn't have benign intentions in the long run.”

“No one wants to tell me anything about how that whole disbanding thing happened.” Jacky looked at his twiddling fingers as he kicked his feet in the air without much a thought as to why he was doing so. “Apparently, it's got something to do with me, so no one wants to ‘compromise’ my memories by giving me too much speculation.”

“Perhaps for the best.” The weasel agreed. “We don't want you to be believing things that didn't quite happen such ways.”

“... Yeah.” Jacky sighed and nodded automatically. “... I suppose you probably want me to talk about what happened last week between me and Darkwing, huh?”

“Only if you want to, Jacky. I'm here to listen to anything you feel like sharing.”

“... I really didn't mean to do anything like that.” Jacky was quiet. He stopped kicking his feet in the air and let his legs drop and hang over the arm of the couch. “... I can't really explain it well, but I just remember being so scared of that scary looking Mr. Banana Brain imposter. That's what I recall last, telling Darkwing to get rid of it, and the next thing I know, he's got me by the shoulders, screaming at me to wake up.” Jacky sat up on the couch and grabbed his upper arms in a motion as if trying to ward off a sudden chill. “... I don't like it, I don't like that I can do something and forget about it right away…”

“Do you have any idea as to why you might have wanted to take Darkwing's firearm like that?”

“Ms. Mustela, it's a _gadget_ gun, he uses it to apprehend people, I mean I think the most dangerous thing it can technically do is a grappling hook, but it doesn't have any bullets!”

“That wasn't what I asked.”

“... I don't know. I don't remember the incident itself, so I doubt I'd even remember what was going on in my mind at the time.” Jacky said sheepishly, feeling very small now. “... I'm just as baffled.”

“Darkwing was able to give some of the details, at least.”

“Oh? And what did he say happened?” Jacky half expected it to be explained in a way that took some of the blame off the Mighty Mallard, and was ready to defend his case despite not having much knowledge due to his faulty memory.

“Well, to put it simply, Jacky… you disassociated.” Ms. Mustela said, putting her pen down and looking at him directly as he cringed and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “Something triggered a defensive response in you, and you reacted to what you thought was a danger to you. What you saw was very different than what was really happening.”

He hadn't expected such an answer.

“... I'm sorry.”

“Jacky, no one is blaming you.”

“... I know, I'm just… sorry.” Jacky mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “... I wish I could be able to explain why I do these things, but-”

“You're recovering from temporal lobe damage, Jacky. Memory problems and altered emotional states are a symptom, and we just need to sometimes remember to be patient.”

Jacky forced a snort through his nostrils.

“Darkwing isn't very patient, he wants answers to things right away.” He grinned as if this was amusing. “He's played so many video games, he's used to it being done right away, I bet.”

“I understand that Darkwing is at least trying to help you, correct?”

“Yeah, but I don't think he really knows how to.” Jacky nodded absent-mindedly, looking up at the holes in the plaster tiles of the ceiling. “Claire keeps reminding him that he shouldn't be trying to force me to remember anything, since that's not how amnesia really works. I guess he thinks if he can get the right trigger word or show me the right thing, that I'll magically remember everything. I think he's seen too many movies, really.”

“I'm sure he means well, at least.”

“Oh, I'm sure, but I can't help but feel like he probably thinks this was his fault to begin with.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He was there, Ms. Mustela.” Jacky said as if stating fact. “He was there when I fell, he was there for the whole thing. He won't tell me exactly what happened, but I think he may be somewhat responsible for why I fell out the window, and I think he wants to help so he doesn't feel so guilty.”

“Have you asked him if that's why?”

“Well, no, not exactly. I mean, he won't answer my other questions directly, so why would he answer those ones instead?”

“I'm not sure, Jacky, but it couldn't hurt to ask him yourself.” Ms. Mustela offered. “Who knows? Maybe the both of you could come to a better understanding of each other.”

“... He's had plenty of time to get to know me better, I'm almost insulted that I had to have my head smashed against the sidewalk to get him to care.”

“... You certainly have your way of explaining things, Jacky.”

“I'm sorry, was that a bit too graphic?”

“Well, you definitely don't seem fazed by that manner of speaking.” Ms. Mustela said before frowning slightly, an action that confused Jacky. “Jacky, are you alright? You've been shivering for most of this session.”

“I dunno, I guess the room’s cold.” He shrugged.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“I ate some. I really didn't care much for the oatmeal, it was thick and bland.” Jacky wasn't exactly sure as to what this had to do with him shivering.

“How do you feel? Are you dizzy at all?”

He hesitated for a moment to think about it thoroughly before answering.

“... Maybe a little.”

Before Jacky could really protest, Ms. Mustela picked up the receiver of the phone on her desk and hit a few buttons.

“Hi, this is Mustela. Could you send a nurse this way, and bring some juice boxes? I think Mr. QuackerJack is experiencing a minor drop in his blood sugar levels.”

“... I haven't even been allowed to eat much sugar.” Jacky said quietly, completely missing the point as Ms. Mustela thanked the person on the other end and hung up. “... I thought it was going to give me headaches or something?”

“Too much sugar, yes, but you still need natural sugars.” Ms. Mustela said, seating beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder in a motion to keep him from getting up. “And you most certainly need to be sure that you don't skip meals. You can't exactly heal properly if you aren't taking care of yourself.”

“... I didn't really think that was a problem, I wasn't very hungry at the time, anyway.” Jacky mumbled, rubbing his arms again, teeth chattering. “... Really starting to regret that now, I'm starting to feel a little gross…”

“That's why I asked for them to bring some juice boxes. It should help with your blood sugar, and I'm sure you won't mind having those.” Ms. Mustela said in a sympathetic voice, letting him lean into her for support. “You should feel better after you've finished at least one.”

Jacky's response was to just nod, as he was intensely focused on keeping his mouth shut on account of feeling mildly sick, but thankfully not so much that he was going to empty his stomach into a trash bin. If he could keep it together until he was able to sip at the juice boxes, he was going to be fine, he told himself.

“Sip” was perhaps and understatement, as he managed to completely gulp down a single juice box through the small straw in less than five seconds in a single inhale. He reached for another one desperately and was rather annoyed when a hand slowed him down.

“Slow sips, Jacky, you'll make yourself sick otherwise.”

“... I'm fine.” He couldn't help but feel like he was being patronized just a little bit.

“Jacky, trust me, just take it slow.”

He gripped his hands around the juice box and slowly took a drink, staring at the weasel with a very focused expression. Ms. Mustela watched him carefully before seeming satisfied with the response.

“Feel any better now?”

“... Kinda.” Jacky mumbled as the nurse checked his vitals and reflexes. He looked away as a stethoscope was pressed to his chest, and he mentally kicked himself for letting himself get into this predicament to begin with, when the easiest solution was to have simply just eaten his bland food.

“You aren't shaking as much now, so that's a good sign.”

“... I'm sorry.”

“It's quite fine, what matters right now is that you're alright.”

He took another sip of juice and stared ahead with a straight face, eyes starting to water. He sniffed loudly, and this did not go unnoticed.

“Jacky?”

“... It's just… really good juice.” He mumbled with a weak smile, but it was very clear that something was bothering him and this was just a cover story. He blinked and took a deep breath. “... Like, really good juice. Whuh-what is this, like an apple blend or..?”

“It's white grape.”

“Graaape, of course, I should have known.”

There was another awkward pause of silence as the nurse made some notes on the clipboard and asked a few more questions that he nodded or shook his head to, and finally gave him the okay to carry on with what he had been doing.

He sipped the juice again.

“... Is it alright if I just take the rest of these to my room?”

“Of course, Jacky.” Ms. Mustela nodded, looking relieved that he was being more responsive than he had been a few minutes ago. “Now, is there anything else you'd like to talk about?”

Jacky took another sip of juice, which this time gave an empty sound as he'd reached the end of the juice box (following it up with three more quick empty sips, as is custom with the end of a juice box).

“... Nothing much that would really get an answer.” He said. Sensing the mild confusion, Jacky added: “Well, I mean, it's just that Darkwing keeps insisting that Mr. Banana Brain had something to do with my accident, but that's honestly ridiculous because Mr. Banana Brain would never hurt me.” He set the empty juice box on the floor near the edge of the couch. “Well, that and the fact that Mr. Banana Brain can't do anything unless I make him.” He added that almost as an afterthought as he reached for a third juice box and stabbed the straw through the top. He took a sip and leaned leisurely into the arm of the couch. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say Darkwing's got himself a screw loose after his year off the grid.”

“And what makes you say that?” Ms. Mustela blinked as she took a seat back in her own chair.

“Well, obviously, Mr. Banana Brain can't do anything unless I make him, so Darkwing insisting the contrary is very confusing.” Jacky said, shrugging. “He's very persistent that I finish watching those security tapes, but I don't want to after seeing how deranged-” Jacky cut himself off, and blinked with a mildly distant look in his eyes before he continued in a softer voice. “... I'm not denying that I did any of that, but it's just so surreal to see it in action because I really don't remember any of it. Darkwing insists that I finish the tapes to be able to answer some of my questions.”

“But, you don't want to.”

“Ms. Mustela, I snapped and tried to strangle a Crimebot then dismantled it with my bare hands, all because it said the wrong word to me. That one had two different perspectives; the surveillance footage and a video feed from the Crimebot’s point of view, before the force of me launching at it broke the camera, but-but it kept recording the sound and it was _horrible_ to hear my voice so angry and unhinged and I swear I would never ever do that on my volition! What if, on the rest of the tapes, there's a video where I actually _hurt someone that isn't a Crimebot?_ ”

“Well, Jacky, I'm not going to tell you what you should do, this is something you have to make a decision for yourself, whether it's a good choice or not…” Ms. Mustela said, folding her hands and legs to give him her full attention. “But whatever you decide to do, it should be a choice that puts your mind at ease.”

“... I don't think I’ll really be able to get over it until I confront it, but I just… I just don't want to see those tapes until I'm sure I'm not going to have a freak out like last time when I snapped out of it and realized I was trying to flush them down the toilet.” Perhaps it was his wording or the way he said it, but there was a slight snort from the weasel, which caught him off guard before he shot back in a flustered tone, blushing furiously as his feathers ruffled: “It's not funny! I don't even remember grabbing the box!”

“I'm not laughing at you, Jacky, it's just that you have a bit of an amusing way to explain things sometimes.”

“... I don't like being laughed at if I haven't made a joke…” He mumbled, shaking his head. “... But, like I said, I don't know what's going on happen if I see the rest of the tapes. I really don't know what to think anymore…”

* * *

He really hated the process of the MRI thing. He couldn't recall very many times having had it done, but the very few times he could remember, the memory was met with much displeasure.

It was loud. It was so confined. He had to stay as still as possible for a very long time. He had to do all this on his back. He did not like being on his back, in a small confined space, in a very loud place, and being expected to not fidget even the slightest.

It was boring. It was uncomfortable. It was so very anxiety inducing. And it made his entire body feel like he was in desperate need of a good sprint away from this horrible, horrible room.

It was such a loud room.

But, he had to do this. It was the only way they could get a good look at the physical insides of his head without using invasive instruments. He couldn't make heads or tails of the images they managed to get out of this thing, but he had to trust that the doctors knew what they were doing.

But it was just so loud.

This time was a bit different, however. It seemed that he'd managed to make his discomfort known despite not exactly verbally expressing it, so he was handed something that looked not unlike a strange pair of earmuffs.

“... What're these?” Jacky looked at them and fiddled with the adjustable strap (despite having no idea what they were sized for).

“Noise reduction earmuffs.” He was told. “These particular ones are safe for the magnetic pull of the machine, and normally we use these for patients with sensitivity to sound.”

“... Now, how come I couldn't use these before?”

He didn't exactly hear a response, as he'd already slipped them on his head and found that it certainly reduced the noise around him considerably. He pulled one side off to listen to the given directions for the MRI procedure. This was not his first time with the machine, but it had been far enough time between for the process to be mostly forgotten with his injured brain. This was in fact the fourth time this session that he had to hear what to do, because he was starting to have trouble with retaining information again, which he had to assume that the lack of enthusiasm he had for this event was probably partly to blame. He nodded without much real meaning behind it; he assumed that they'd have to explain it to him again and again during the procedure anyway.

“... How long is this gonna take again?”

“Best case, about ten to fifteen minutes, that is if you don't move too much during the scan.”

“Oh, but that sounds like forever when there's nothing to do!” Jacky whined, slumping his shoulders and throwing his head back. “I hate having to stay still, it makes me just want to do anything but that!”

“Unfortunately, you need to be as still as possible for the procedure, or we simply won't get a clear reading, Mr. QuackerJack.”

“And I just hate how small of an area I have in there.” Jacky continued.

“If it makes you feel any better, Mr. QuackerJack, you aren't the only one who feels this way.”

“It honestly doesn't make me feel any better, it just confirms how commonplace the apprehension is.”

“Would it help if you had a comfort item with you during the procedure?”

“Mr. Banana Brain doesn't like loud noise either.”

“You could cover his ears, I'm sure.”

“Mr. Banana Brain doesn't have ears, he's a banana.”

“Then what is it that you want us to do for you?”

“... Well, I already got the ear muffs, but I guess I could just bring Mr. Banana Brain the next time we do this, he's napping anyway right now.” Jacky said before catching the look he was given. “... Oh, you think I'm being serious… this is… I’m just gonna put these ear things on now, and get this over with.”

He hated the noise, but as it wasn't as loud as before thanks to the ear muffs, he decided that how he now hated the vibrations that rattled throughout the machine, making him feel like it was some sort of death trap he was stuck laying on his back for. He just had to stay as still as possible for a good quarter of an hour, and the session would be done for now.

Jacky squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the shuddering of the machine that made him feel like he was on a plane experiencing turbulence. It wasn't so much that he was unnerved or anything, it was more like the intense feeling of vulnerability was rising with every second the longer and longer he had to remain in this position. He was starting to see one downside to these noise reduction earmuff things: No distracting noises meant that his mind was free to wander about wildly as he realized that silence was almost as loud as not-silence.

Within minutes, his mind was already buzzing around with at least five different subjects, and two of them were about that strange looking Mr. Banana Brain and how Darkwing stated that it wasn't even the first one he'd crafted in an attempt to recreate his dear plush pal.

 _It's not even cuddly, it looks so sharp and jagged for no reason, at the very least it needs to make sense otherwise making it sharp and jagged makes no sense in my style._ Jacky thought to himself, frowning. _Besides, there's just one Mr. Banana Brain, I can't just make another one so easily, that's probably why it didn't turn out so well, but what on earth was I even thinking when I put that thing together? Actually, better question: Why did I freak out over seeing it in the first place? Why would it possibly be this terrifying, it really doesn't look much, it looks like a rough scrap metal project more than anything…_

At this point, he realized that his breathing pattern was becoming quick and shallow, and the gradual sensation of something heavy sitting on his chest was becoming present. He knew this meant that the claustrophobic feeling that this machine caused was starting to set in, and he repeatedly reminded him that it was all temporary and that he'd be out of here soon enough. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and tried to focus on the texture of the fabric against his fingertips, anything to steer his thoughts away from the overwhelming hyperaware sensation of being restrained in such an enclosed place.

By the time the process was over, he was biting his bottom lip hard enough to make it numb, and he hadn't even realized that he still had the ear muffs on long after it was finished. Jacky stared in confusion a good while before it finally dawned on him why things sounded so muffled and quiet, and he was just so embarrassed that it had taken so long to sort that out.

“Are you alright, Mr. QuackerJack?”

Jacky narrowed his eyes just slightly. He was getting tired of hearing and having to answer that question all the time. He heaved a heavy sigh.

“... I… I don't know, I guess I'm just… I didn't like that…” He mumbled quietly, avoiding eye contact. “... It was very… shaky. And cramped.”

“You did very well at staying still for the session, so I'm sure we got the imaging we needed for the assessment.”

“Good, because I really don't want to do that again for awhile…” Jacky said unenthusiastically. He slid off the surface of where he'd been laying, and stepped behind the attending physician or whatever they were called, so he could be led to the room where they explained things to him. Claire was just outside the door, having been waiting for him, and a small smile lit up on his tired face upon seeing her. “... Hi, Claire.”

“Are you alright? You look tired, Jacky.” She said, frowning in concern as she looked at him, having read his body language.

He responded by wrapping his arms around her and leaning against her for support, uttering a tuneless hum to himself, before finally speaking again.

“... I've been tired for months, Claire, that's normal.” Jacky said in a quiet voice before forcing a little laugh out of himself. “... I just don't like doing that scan thing, that's all. It's so boring and it makes me feel like I'm trapped the longer I have to stay there.”

“I just get worried when I see you being listless.” Claire said as she returned the embrace, silently pleased to find that Jacky's frame seemed to finally be putting on some of the weight he'd lost during his months’ long joyride through town, even if he was still somewhat scrawny overall. “How do you feel, then?”

“... Better, I guess. I don't hurt right now, if anything.” He mumbled in an earnest tone, shifting his position to look at her more properly. “I just didn't like that scan thing. It wasn't so loud this time, because they got something to cover my ears, but it still rattled around, and I had to stay still for like ten or fifteen minutes, and it feels so much longer when I can't do anything else.” Jacky gave a weary exhale, and put his head on her shoulder again. “... I don't like being forced to stay down, I don't know why, but I just don't…”

“I don't think I'd like that very much either, that definitely doesn't sound very pleasant.” Claire said with empathy. She ruffled the feathers on his head gently, and he gave a pleased and comforted little noise. “Ready to see what they have to say about the scan?”

“Uh-huh.” Jacky nodded with not much enthusiasm. Despite the affirmation, Claire still had to urge him to move, as he seemed quite content to just stay right there with her.

He just seemed so out of it at the moment, and she suspected that was because he'd been overstimulated from the MRI machine and induced claustrophobia, in addition to his limited capacity to handle stress, especially with him still in recovery. It had been an infrequent occurrence for his attention span to fluctuate, and it was hard to predict when he'd simply lose interest in favor of something more appealing to him. At this moment, he was more contented to cling onto her, and that's all that mattered at the moment as far as he was concerned.

He giggled giddishly as Claire carefully unraveled his arms from her and held his hands firmly in hers. He tugged back playfully, as if he'd completely forgotten what he was supposed to be doing right now, and snorted another laugh.

“Heeeeeey, Claire…” Jacky said in a sing-song-ish voice, a goofy little grin spreading on his face. “ _Whatarewedoin?_ ”

Claire couldn't help but smile a bit at that; even when experiencing some impairment, he was maintaining that playful charm that seemed so rooted in his personality.

“Jacky, we really should go see those results.” She said as he continued to pull at her hands, while he chuckled in a teasing tone. “... Jacky, are you sure you're alright?”

“Mm-hmm. Just a little tired, but I'm fine, really.”

“Tell you what, you follow me to see the results, and we'll see about letting you rest.”

“But, you're visiting, it'd be rude to fall asleep when you're visiting.”

“Jacky, I'm more concerned with you getting better, than whether or not it's polite for you to be napping during a visit. If you need to rest, then you can rest once we see the results.”

“It's not fair to you, you waited for me to come back off my delusional trip for so long, the least I can do is-”

Fingers pressed against his beak in a silencing gesture from her. Jacky blinked and stared back at her with wide eyes.

“I understand what you mean, Jacky, but you need to take care of yourself before you start worrying about other things.”

“But-”

“What I want is for you to take care of yourself first, the most important thing right now is making sure you're healing properly.”

“I'm doing _fiiiine…_ ” Jacky said in bit of a drawl, rocking in place anxiously regardless. “My head doesn't hurt, and despite the fact that I'm tired, I'm actually pretty lucid right now.”

“And that's great to hear, but we're still going to look at those MRI results.” Claire said with another careful pull of his hand, trying to coax him to follow her. “Let's get this done before we look for something else to do, okay?”

“You're going to have to explain it to me when they show them to us, you know that I can't make heads or tails of those pictures…”

“Of course, Jacky.”

“I mean, I can't be the only one who can't read those, I don't know how you do that.”

* * *

Recovery was going to be lengthy, no doubt about it. He was doing well at it, but he was far from the end of the road. That limp he'd had was gradually getting better, and the worst of his visible bruises had finally faded. The scar that marked the impact point of his head injury caused the short feathers on his face to ruffle awkwardly in a small line, as did the mark left on his shoulder.

As far as visible ailments went, he looked more or less the same as before, save for the scuffs and marks left behind, and it was easy to overlook the fact that his brain was understandably healing at a different rate.

Because of this, Jacky became aware of the very likely possibility that he was now more susceptible to motion sickness than before due to the altered integrity of his equilibrium.

He knew this because he certainly felt half ready to puke despite the relatively smooth ride in the backseat of the Thunderquack, and he had ran through all the possible factors in his mind as he gripped the cushion of the bench seat with one white-knuckled hand while his other hand squeezed Claire's, desperately seeking something else to focus on than his upset stomach.

Jacky had been granted permission to have a supervised visit to the place of residence that he'd called “home”, mostly to find some things to bring back to his hospital room to give him a better sense of familiarity and comfort for his extended stay, but also to give him a much needed reprieve from the hospital environment that had been his sanctuary for the past few months. Darkwing was his assigned escort, and Jacky honestly wasn't too surprised.

He felt Claire put her free hand on his back, and shuddered as a chill ran through him.

“I know I say this a lot, but are you alright, Jacky?”

“... Mmph…” He grunted, shaking his head slowly. He swallowed and managed in a hoarse whisper: “... Uh-Airsick…”

“Aw, geeze, do we need to stop?” Darkwing called out from the front passenger seat, looking over the head rest. “Not to sound rude or anything, but the seats haven't been scotchguarded since we had to replace the upholstery.”

Jacky forced a quizzical look through the nauseated grimace.

“... To put it simple, your blood from your injuries didn't just stain your hat.”

Jacky's face seemed to get paler under the feathers from that statement (and he himself could feel that), and he cursed under his breath as his stomach felt like it had just done two backflips at a sudden change in orientation of the Thunderquack. He absolutely hated the motion sickness, and the worse thing about it was probably that he knew that nothing he did was going to really stop it until the ride was over.

“... How long until..?” He managed before forcing himself to shut up when a sudden bitter taste in his mouth worried him. Jacky was determined to keep himself from the embarrassment of barfing in the backseat of his former adversary’s vehicle. He swallowed again and mumbled an inaudible apology, before pulling his hand free from Claire's to grab the back of the seat in front of him, trying desperately to stabilize his equilibrium, reduce movement, whatever, anything, _anything_ to ease away those nasty little disorienting queasy sensations trying to fight him. “... Are we there yet..?” He said in a miserable little moan.

“Have you always had this problem before and I'm just noticing or..?” Darkwing glanced over the back of the seat at him again with a mildly concerned expression.

“... No… I think… I-I think it's because I hit my head…” Jacky tried to speak in short sentences, glancing out the side window for any familiar landmark of sorts to assure him the trip was almost over. He clenched his teeth as another chill ran through him, and he wondered if he looked as bad as he felt. He must have looked a sight. “... M-messed with my balance or… or … augh, I c-can’t really think right now…”

He did not like being sick. He did not like feeling ill. And he certainly did not like the entire experience of being airsick.

“... How long has it been..?” He added in a small voice, wondering if he was just hypersensitive to turbulence, and that perhaps a ride in the sidecar of the Ratcatcher would have probably been more comfortable and less distressing to his insides. Actually, scratch that, a _city bus_ would have been a more reasonable option.

“About five minutes.”

Jacky made a weak grumble of protest, proclaiming something to the effect of “Longest five minutes I've ever had”, and let go of the seat to lean back while covering his eyes with an arm laying across them. If he was right in his estimation, then there should be another five minutes left, seven tops. He hated every second of this ride, and he most certainly was going to hate the ride back.

_... I really hope this is just restricted to aircraft rides, otherwise traveling anywhere from now on is going to be an absolute nightmare…_

It seemed like it took forever, but he finally felt the Thunderquack lurch to a halt and tensed from the rough landing, clutching the cushion he was sitting on and the back of the seat in front of him again while issuing a cry of fright. There was a lengthy silence from him afterwards before he started to chuckle nervously, finally able to relax once he realized he'd managed through the whole nauseating trip without tossing his cookies.

He continued to laugh weakly as he was helped out of the backseat of the Thunderquack, laughed as he stood there on the familiar grass of the familiar front yard, laughed as he stumbled a few feet away, and finally, with a sharp surprised gasp, ducked away to spit up in the bushes. Claire, understanding sweet soul that she was, kept a hand on his back until he was able to step away and sit on the cement porch step in front of the door, glassy eyed but certainly looking far less nauseated than he had been minutes prior, although a reddish tint still flushed across his face from the embarrassment.

“... S-s-sorry…” Jacky stuttered in small voice, keeping his eyes focused on the ground in front of him. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, grimacing in disgust. “... Was on the verge for a while… oof…”

“You couldn't help it, you just had motion sickness.”

“... Can't remember if it's ever been that bad before, I think hitting my head really messed up my inner ear balance…”

“Well, then, we'll just have to make some changes to how we travel from now on.”

“... I like how that's your first concern and _not_ the fact that I just heaved under our window.”

“We can't do much to change what's already happened. You got sick, it happens to everyone.”

“... I'd rather it doesn't, it's terrible, terrible, just absolutely terrible…” Jacky looked up, appearing to have recovered somewhat from the temporary bout of sickness, but was still a bit woozy. “And then I have to do this again, because we have to go _back_ to the hospital anyway. _How was that only a ten minute ride?_ ”

Claire unlocked the door and reached under Jacky's arms to help him to his feet. It was really bizzare to know that he hadn't stepped foot through this threshold in well over seven months, even though he could only remember three of those months (neither of which were the four he could not before). He was never going to get over the fact that he had been “gone” for so long, even though his sequential memory acted as if the whole chunk of time had simply never happened.

He honestly hadn't expected much of a change in the layout and decor of the house, and he found that he was right. Everything looked relatively the same. The same framed photographs. The same slipcovers on the ottomans. The same books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table. The pillow and blanket he liked to use was neatly folded on the far end of the couch, as if waiting for his return. The potted plant in the corner had a very noticeable difference in the number of bloomed flowers than the last time he'd seen it, by which he meant that all the blossoms had since disappeared.

Jacky sat on the couch, holding the pillow and blanket as if they were prized possessions, and eyed Darkwing and his rather tall sidekick with the same sort of caution as one might do so with a pack of dogs that was staring at a bag of fresh cheeseburgers in their hands.

This was his pillow and blanket, and he was going to bring them back to the hospital with him.

“You can sit here for a bit while you get your bearings, Jacky.”

“I'm fine, I'm not feeling sick anymore.”

“Well, just enjoy sitting on the couch, then.”

“Okay.” He grinned. “I missed this couch. There's really no couches at the hospital, except Ms. Mustela’s, but I can't really sleep on that.”

Of course, not much of substance really happened for a good while. There's only so much you can do to explain exactly how enjoyable one's sitting experience on a couch can be before it gets tedious and monotonous, and only so much description can go into observing Darkwing and Launchpad observing Jacky.

Anyway, Jacky liked the good vibes of this couch, and he really couldn't be bothered for the next twenty minutes (aside from having been offered something to drink on account of having thrown up not too long ago). Once that was over, he announced that he decided that he definitely wanted to bring the blanket and pillow back with him, as well as his scrapbooks. He followed Claire around the house eagerly, clutching the pillow to his chest as he considered what things were worth bringing back, and what was just fine being left here.

“Shame I can't bring back the couch, could you imagine trying to shove that thing in the backseat, it'd be almost impossible.” He chattered, having recovered enough from his temporary spell of illness to act as he normally would on a good mood. “Don't get me wrong, I like a good bed like anyone else, but I just really like that couch. Wow, you've really made sure to keep the dust off the scrapbooks, almost as if you'd been… looking at them… all the… t-time…”

That was it. The exact moment when it finally dawned on him the extent of the fallout from his actions during the chunk of time he could not remember. It hit, and it hit him with the energy not unlike emotionally taking a slugger to the back of the knees. Perhaps it was a good thing that he had been clutching the pillow in his hands, because he quite literally collapsed to the floor like a ragdoll, which of course caused quite a commotion as one does not normally do that unless something is wrong.

He still couldn't remember a thing about the whole four months in question, but he sure felt guilty. He was completely aware of the fact that he was on the floor right now, and more than enough aware to know that perhaps doing so without warning was incredibly frightening to one who might be concerned about his well-being. It wasn't so much that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but more like he completely just… stopped.

“Jacky!”

The air around him felt thick, almost viscous and hard to breathe, as if he could possibly be drowning, but that was ridiculous, because last he recalled, he was nowhere near water.

_You've done it, you've really done it, the only reason she could have possibly been looking through those books constantly is because she most certainly was worried about wherever it was you were during all that time, you've hurt her, she won't admit it, but that's what you've done, you monster…_

It honestly astounded him that it had taken him this long for it all to really hit. Yes, he'd been upset about the predicament before, but mostly because of how inconvenient and frustrating the whole process of recovery had been. Yes, he knew what happened before he'd been injured, but it had always been observed with the same sort detachment as if he'd been simply told an unbelievable story, even if he was reasonable enough to accept it as fact, regardless of how he felt emotionally.

Jacky finally came to his senses (or rather, his level of awareness of where he was gradually improved), and realized that his fingers were gripping fabric tightly, and his arms were wrapped around something solid. His eyes fluttered open and he couldn't see much in front of him as something was already in the way. And it took him a good long minute to realize that was because he had his face buried in that something.

That something was a someone, and that someone was Claire.

He quickly pulled his face away and looked up, appearing to be very forlorn and apprehensive. That wheezing noise he made when he was upset and panting made itself known, and he darted his eyes around the room as he tried to make sense of what exactly happened. Curse these memory lapses; if he ever saw Megavolt again, he was going to make it a conscious effort to apologize profusely for all the flak he'd given the forgetful rodent for his retention issues over the years.

He racked his brain for the last recent things he could recall, and mentally ran them through a list that he repeated to himself as he added something new to it, trying to cement the events more clearly in his memory.

Today, he was allowed a visit home. Today, he was allowed a visit home to pick up some things to make his extended stay at the hospital more comfortable. Today, he was allowed to come home for a visit to pick up some of his things to make the lengthy stay at the ward less stressful. Today, he was going to get to bring back some familiar items to the hospital, and he was going to bring back his pillow, the blanket, and his scrapbooks…

?

??

!?!?!?

!!!!!!!!!

Scrapbooks. Scrapbooks! His scrapbooks! He was commenting on how there wasn't even a little bit of dust settled on the covers, and had come to the realization, that awful realization that Claire must have spent so long, so much time looking through those scrapbooks while he was gone, when he had snapped and was wandering the streets in whatever state of mind he must have been in, oh, oh no, she must have been so, so worried about him the whole time!

“ _There's no dust on the scrapbooks!_ ” Jacky suddenly screamed, effectively scaring the bejesus out of everyone present. “There's no dust on the scrapbooks, you never put them away, I hurt you, you said I didn't, but I did, I diiiiiiid!” The last syllable dragged out in a wail as he burst into tears (something that he had miraculously managed to not do yet today despite that last hour being one exhausting ordeal after another). He buried his face in his hands, and his body just shook. “I'm a horrible, horrible monster! I don't remember anything, but I know I am!”

He felt Claire wrap her arms around him, and he honestly wanted to push away, but this entire trip to the house had been just so tiring and he simply lacked the energy to do so, so he just leaned into her with a weak groan of protest and continued to cry, which had been reduced to whimpers and hiccups.

“Jacky-”

“Stop it! Stop trying to justify what I'm doing, I'm so tired of hearing that it's not my fault and that it's fine and how you understand, because it's not fine, and it's completely my fault and you have every right to be angry with me!” He shouted and grabbed the fluffy down on his head in rough handfuls and yanked down, vaguely aware that he'd actually plucked a few wispy feathers from his scalp. “You can't tell me that you're one hundred percent okay with everything that's happened and is happening and is going to happen! _I'm_ not okay with it! There's no dust on the scrapbooks, Claire! There's no dust because you must have looked at them while I was gone because you had no idea what else to do! How can you say I didn't hurt you when I clearly did!”

He really didn't care if he was making a scene right now; all this had been hovering over him for weeks, and he'd done so well at pretending that it wasn't a concern, and accepting that everything was what it was, but the lack of dust on the scrapbooks was the last straw, he couldn't stand the idea that Claire had been thumbing through the books every single day, waiting for any news of his whereabouts and maybe even fruitlessly hoping something in the books would be a clue for what exactly happened (although he was sure that would be complete bunk, he did not design the pages to be cryptic at all).

He did this to her, whether he meant to or not.

“...”

Oh, he did not like that silence. He looked up with a bit of a slow and awkward uncomfortableness, and flinched when he realized what he had just said.

“... Uh…”

“... You're clearly having a bad day, there's a lot going on right now and-”

“Yes, there is a lot going on right now.” Jacky said over her. “Also, what are we doing on the floor?”

“You fell, Jacky.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course. I'm getting good at that, I guess. But, how did it happen this time?”

“You just fell without warning, and right now, I'd rather know if you hit your head or not when you did.” Claire said, helping him stand again, with Jacky making a few awkward steps to correct his balance.

“... I don't think I did.” He reached a hand to his head and prodded either side carefully. “... It doesn't feel sore. If anything, I'm just a bit tired, but that's always a thing now.”

“But you're absolutely sure that your head is alright?”

“Physically, yes.” He said, looking around briefly. “... I was holding a pillow, maybe it cushioned things.”

“And you have no idea why you would have dropped like that?”

“No, Claire.”

“Because if you do, then we can be more prepared if it happens again.”

“Claire, I don't know, other than the sc… Scrapbooks!” He shouted suddenly once that thought smashed through the tired haze that fogged his mind. He grabbed her by the shoulders and stared at her with wide eyes and an immensely guilty look on his face. “Claire, the scrapbooks! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you-!”

He was cut off when he was pulled forward roughly into a firm embrace, and he wasn't sure if he even deserved it. He also realized that he seemed to be shaking quite a bit, and briefly wondered if her action was also a means to stabilize him before he dropped to the floor again.

_You helpless disaster, can't even stand properly…_

Jacky shoved that internal voice to the back of his mind. That was the negativity talking to him. He did not like the negativity; that's what invited the sharp toothed ducks to find Mr. Banana Brain.

“Jacky, it's okay, you don't have to ap-”

“It's not okay, Claire. This is not okay. I am not okay.” Jacky said calmly, heaving a heavy sigh. “Whether I meant to or not, I still did this. I am not okay. I'm not okay. And it's okay to not be okay with things not being okay. Because if you keep pretending to be okay when you aren't okay, then you're not going to be okay.” He paused, and frowned a little to himself. “... That probably would have been more profound if I could just word the things I want to say right.”

“I suppose if I understand the gist, it works just as well.”

“But, you do get what I'm saying, don't you? It's okay to not be okay with all the things that are happening.”

“... You know, I think this is the most serious thing I've heard from you in weeks.” Claire blinked and said in mild surprise.

“I know I'm not the best guy to be giving epiphanies, but I do know that it's impossible to be okay all the time.” Jacky shrugged, before snorting a little. “Well, let's be perfectly honest; it's probably not wise to take sage advice from the town loon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest... It took me forever to figure out how to end the chapter because for a while it did not seem to have a spot to end it at. ^^;


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this chapter other than I had a bit of fun with a few ideas. :P

“I'm dreaming.” Jacky said in a deadpan voice, sitting on the edge of a bed. “I'm asleep and this really isn't a thing that's happening right now.”

“What makes you say so, Joe?” An unnaturally chipper voice chimed behind him, making Jacky cringe a little at the tone.

“... Well, for one thing, I'm looking out this window and there's literally nothing out there, absolutely nothing.” Jacky didn't change his infliction in his voice, and shrugged. “Despite the fact that this room appears to be naturally lit, there is nothing outside to give such light. It makes no sense, but it doesn't have to if I'm asleep.”

“Since when have you ever stuck to logic?”

“I'm nuts, not stupid.”

“Well, Mr. Smarty Pants, any other clues you've picked up in your oh so brilliant observations?”

“... Well, I suppose another indication of my theory is that you're here and I don't have a doppelganger.” Jacky looked over his shoulder with an expression of mild disgust at the wild eyed, widely grinning double in a perfectly repaired jester costume. “Just a little guess, really.”

“You said yourself that you're crazy, maybe I'm just a hallucination of something about you and you're not really asleep at all?”

“Nice try, but I have my ways to tell when I'm asleep.”

“Oh?” The doppelganger said, appearing to be very interested in the idea, dingle-dangles of the hat raising upward as if resembling perked ears. “How so?”

“That's confidential; only I need to know it, or else it compromises the whole concept.” Jacky said, looking back at the dark window to nothingness. “I'm dreaming, and I'm just glad it's here and not…” He paused, then shook his head roughly and grunted under his breath.

Jacky felt a sudden springy weight on the mattress, making him lean slightly towards the foot of the bed. He looked to his side quickly and saw the double there on his hands and knees, staring at him with a very focused look.

“Tell me.”

“No.” Jacky shook his head. He blinked and was surprised to find that the other one was now much closer and continued to keep that same expression, perhaps with a little bit of annoyance sprinkled in.

“What's the trick? How do you know when you're asleep?” There was an insistent tone in the voice.

“No.”

They were almost beak to beak now, and Jacky was beginning to feel uncomfortable, as if ice had touched his spine and spread through his body like creeping tendrils of unease.

“You just _have_ to tell me!” The other whined, bouncing in an agitated manner, continuing to stare at Jacky with captivated focus.

“... Have I always had that bad of eye bags, or is that just with you..?”

“ _Don't change the subject!_ ” The double screamed, grabbing Jacky by the shoulders, forcing the confused battered toy maker to squeak in surprise. “Tell me how you know the difference!”

“... If you're me, then you should know already…”

“You cheeky little-!”

“I really don't have the energy for this sort of thing right now, could you just get to the point?” Jacky wasn't in the mood for confusing cryptic symbolism. “What are you, like my subconscious or something? Maybe just that little side of me I'm worried about seeing in those tapes? You really think I'm worried about you being here? You're not the first fever dream I've had; I've been around the block a few times.”

The doppelganger seemed to be a bit livid with this response. His fingers squeezed Jacky's shoulders before throwing him to the surface of the bed in frustration.

“Hey!” Jacky shouted. “Watch it! I don't need another knock on the head!”

“You shouldn't be worried about that; you said so yourself that you were dreaming.” The other QuackerJack sneered, sticking his tongue out with a mocking nod. “None of this is real, so don't worry about a thing, Bing.”

“I'll worry all I want, you don't tell me what to do.”

“For someone who seems to think he's so in control of this situation right now, it's kinda funny how you are literally arguing with yourself.”

“I guess.” Jacky shrugged, heaving a sigh of disinterest. “... I really don't care what you're trying to do.”

“What ‘we're’ trying to do, you mean.”

“Oh, you are a nasty little figment, aren't you?” Jacky raised his eyebrows, and reached for the remote for the mounted television in the corner. “Not the first, but probably not the worst either…”

“I may be an illusion, but I had to come from somewhere.” The other one shrugged, unsuccessfully stifling back a snicker with a bite of the lower lip. “You've known of me for the longest time; I'm nothing new.”

“I figured as much. Your diction is familiar.” Jacky exhaled and switched on the television, and frowned a little at the dead air on the screen. “Ugh, I don't care much for static…”

“You'll have to, that's all we get around here. Static. Dead air. White noise.”

“... What a boring waste of fantasy television.”

“Can't say much about the radio, either. Just a continuous loop of tunes you're either familiar with or half familiar with. The less familiar ones are just a gurgle, and occasionally just stop all together. Like an earworm, really.” The double said, appearing to be bored with the thought. “You have brain trauma; it affected how you process and create information.”

“I know that. There's nothing you can tell me that I don't know yet, you are just parroting what I've already heard and been told.”

“You're so boring now, you're no fun anymore.”

“And there is the gaslighting.” Despite all this, Jacky still kept a calm tone of voice. “I like you better when you're encouraging. The last few weeks have just been nitpicking and negativity. We don't need that around here.”

“Oh, is it ‘nitpicking’ to point out to you all that because of what you're afraid-?”

“ _Shut it!_ ” Jacky snapped back, pointing at the doppelganger in a warning gesture. “This is exactly what I'm talking about. I won't have any of it. None of the bad vibes, we're going to let ourselves get better.”

There was a pause from the other, who blinked a few times before bursting into rather loud and hysterical laughter. Jacky felt like someone was scratching a chalkboard behind his head, as it made his skin crawl ever so slightly. The other QuackerJack gasped dramatically to catch his breath and continued to snicker between inhales.

“You really think that's how it's going to work out?” He finally said, grinning widely at Jacky before chiming with a sing-song-ishly dissonant tone. “‘Jack fell down, and broke his crown…’”

“... I'm not sure I follow…”

“Do you really think it's going to be as easy as ‘get better’?” The double snorted harshly, and crawled forward across the bed top to hover over Jacky like an alpha animal staring down its subordinate. “You broke the rules, Jules. You're most certainly going back to jail after you're deemed healed enough to fend for yourself there. You attacked civilians, and you caused wanton property damages, and you _hurt so many people._ Quite frankly, I'm surprised you haven't heard a word about any casualties; I wouldn't be surprised if there's a body count from your little stunt.”

“I-I haven't! There's been no reports of-!” Jacky stammered once that particular thought finally was forced to cross his mind.

“You sure about that, Matt?” The other QuackerJack grabbed him by the chin, continuing to smirk at Jacky, who stared back in wide eyed helplessness. “You know that you've been advised not to view the news reports of the events. What could they possibly be keeping from you? Surely, if it wasn't as bad as it seems, they'd have no problem with you wanting to see the truth?”

“... They don't want me to compromise any memories I may have managed to retain.” Jacky mumbled, reaching his hands up to push the other away from his beak. “... It's very easy to think I remember it that way if that's all the information they're giving me. That's how manufactured memories work; if you hear it enough times, you believe it even if it's not correct…”

“And who told you that?”

“... They.” Jacky said in a quiet voice, not looking the doppelganger in the eye. “... The doctors. Darkwing. Claire.”

“And you're going to just trust what Darkwing has to say? Hasn't he dedicated a good portion of his career to undermining your crusade against the king of all mind rot, those horrible, horrible video games that are poisoning the youth?” The other QuackerJack leaned even closer and lowered his voice as if trying to keep what was being said as a secret between them, despite the two of them being the only two in this fabricated location. “Did you forget that Darkwing Duck is practically Whiffle Boy's number one fan boy? You really think he's forgiven you so easily for trying to destroy his precious little digital hero? Do you actually think he's your friend now? You don't even know who he really is. He could be lying about having pushed you out that window.”

“... I know what you're trying to do. Stop it.” Jacky said with a bit of a whine to his voice as the double pressed both hands to his chest and pinned Jacky to the bed, grinning even wider. “You're just trying to upset me; this is just anxiety taking form, you just want me to doubt things and get me all messed up and confused; I don't like this, why are you being so mean?”

“You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Mr. QuackerJack?” The illusion said without faltering as Jacky began squirming uncomfortably, visibly unnerved by being forced to remain on his back during this encounter. “He wanted mean; we got meaner. These days, you've got to play rough with your toys.”

“... I… wuh-wha..?” Jacky tried to make some sort of coherent noise, but something about that last statement caused that overwhelming sense of anxiety to rise even higher. The static from the TV was getting very distracting, so loud, a barrage of white noise just filled the air and his ears. “... Whuzhappenin..?”

“You're a very sick little ducky, Chuckie. You're not well. That's what they say. ‘Crazy Mr. QuackerJack's at it again.’”

“... N-Nobody says-”

“Have you forgotten what they used to whisper about behind your back? Did you really knock your head that hard?”

The other QuackerJack was continuing to push his weight into Jacky's chest, paralyzing him with fear. The poor, confused and mentally bruised toy maker could only stare in apprehension as the shift in weight distribution made it rather hard to breathe properly. A sort of creeping numbness made his limbs feel too heavy, as if invisible restraints had pinned them to the bed. He couldn't even muster the strength to curl his fingers to grip the fabric of the blanket beneath him.

“... Cuh… could you… geoffa me..?”

“The sleep paralysis is setting in, Mr. QuackerJack.”

“... Wuh..?”

“You're having a nightmare. It's time to wake up.”

Jacky's eyes widened in shock, almost perfectly round now. The dead air seemed to take on another form entirely, manifesting as little flickering fuzz, like a bad reception, that glimmered and danced before his eyes in tune to the crackling buzz of the static. It was disorienting, it was confusing, and most importantly, it was absolutely dreadful that his senses were going bonkers in this state of panic. He felt like he was losing his mind, that his ability to grasp the situation was crumbling apart like the binding of a wet book of smudged, incomprehensible words.

“... I-”

“ _WAKE UP, MR. QUACKERJACK!_ ” The doppelganger suddenly shrieked as he grabbed Jacky by front of his shirt with both hands and shook him roughly.

Jacky screamed as his sense of feeling and moving flooded back to him in a rush. He kicked and flailed and threw his hands in every direction he could, desperate to dispel the terrifying illusion from him as far and quickly as possible. He wasn't entirely sure where he was now and what was happening around him at this exact moment, but he wasn't going to let himself continue to be pinned by that terrifying vision; squeezing the air from his lungs and making his arms and legs feel useless in defending himself as it pushed harder and harder against his chest.

The noise of wood against linoleum jarred his blurred focus and left him dazed and confused and gasping as he became distantly aware of the overturned nightstand on the floor in front of him.

“... Mr. QuackerJack..?” He heard a quiet but vaguely familiar voice drift into the room.

Jacky blinked and looked at the doorway to find one of the night shift nurses (a hen) standing there with a somewhat timid posture. That was when Jacky could see the mangled bits of particleboard on the floor near the door; he had clearly thrown the drawer of the nightstand across the room, but it didn't immediately stick in his mind that he had indeed been the one to do so. His tattered jester costume was among the mess.

His eyes dropped to the floor in front of him, and he saw the overturned nightstand in question, not immediately registering that he had been the one to do so.

“... This is a mess.” He said in a bit of a monotone, as if he was simply stating it rather than observing it.

“Mr. QuackerJack, are you alright?”

“This is a mess.” He said a little more urgently, shaking his head slowly. “Oh, no, this is a _mess._ ”

“Mr. QuackerJack, is everything alright?” The nurse asked essentially the same question, but in a different wording, as if that would coax an answer out of the confused duck.

“I've made a mess of everything, I can't leave it like this, I can't, I've made a mess, I can't just leave this here…” Jacky mumbled breathlessly, starting to sound agitated, as if the mere idea of the overturned nightstand was very distressing to him.

He flinched when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He gasped harshly and jerked his body backwards, away from the source of the touch, and ended up stumbling backwards into the guest chair, squeaking in fright and confusion at the sudden realization that he was no longer on his feet.

“Oh, dear, are you alright, Mr. QuackerJack?” The nurse continued to ask, genuinely apologetic for startling him like that. “I didn't mean to frighten you, but it's awfully late in the night and you were screaming not too long ago.”

“... What time is it..?”

“About half after one in the morning.”

“... That's not late if you're an insomniac.”

“Maybe so, but you are a resident in the Neuro Ward, so it's most certainly late in the night for a healing brain.”

“... Was… was there anyone else in here besides me earlier..?”

Almost immediately, Jacky regretted asking that question, as he realized as soon as it left his mouth that it was going to bring up more questions.

“No one who shouldn't be.” The nurse said, already beginning to look him over carefully in a quick visual exam. “There's not much activity around here after hours, so it's pretty quiet. Are you feeling alright, Mr. QuackerJack? You seem a little pale.”

“... There was… I felt like a… like there was something heavy pushing on me and-and I couldn't move or breathe.” Jacky said quietly, gesturing with a hand hovering over his chest, as he pulled himself into a more comfortable, upright position in the chair. “It was… _horrible._ ”

“And what you mean to say is that that ‘something’ took a physical form and stood over you and pinned you to the bed?”

Jacky was dumbstruck.

“H-how did you _know?_ ” He squeaked, eyes wide.

“You're aren't the first patient at the hospital to be afflicted with sleep paralysis, and you certainly won't be the last.” The hen said, sounding sympathetic as she checked his reaction time with his eyes and frowned just ever so slightly. “... Are you aware that your eyes-?”

“If you're going to ask if I know that I'm cross eyed, yes, yes I do know that.” Jacky nodded, trying to keep a straight face; anyone unfamiliar with the condition always seemed to react in concern or shock, but he was used to it. In fact, right now, discussing such seemed to ease the anxiety and confusion away, as it was something about himself that he was more knowledgeable about than the exact cause of the confusing nightmares that kept him from having a peaceful rest. “They do that sometimes, it's disorienting but mostly harmless. I forget the name, but I think it's also called ‘lazy eye’.”

The nurse continued to ask small questions about himself as a sort of assessment for his cognitive state, and Jacky eventually resorted to standard answers that were very clear that he wasn't exactly paying attention. He tilted his head to look beyond the nurse's shoulder and stared at the destroyed drawer at the door, distantly acknowledging that his old costume was among the mess.

Then something t-boned his train of thought and derailed it.

“Lumpy!” He shouted suddenly, startling the nurse, who had gotten used to the quiet answers. “He was in that drawer!”

The nurse was quick to place a hand on his chest to keep him in the chair, as he had attempted to jump up in a spontaneous panic.

“Mr. QuackerJack, please stay seated, you-”

“I can very well cross the room on my own, thank you very much!” He snapped back, still trying to stand, and doing so poorly due to the simple restriction. “Every second I'm wasting here is another second Lumpy spends-!”

“I'll look over there for you, you need to catch your breath, what does he look like?” The nurse said firmly, and the tone of voice made Jacky feel sheepish.

“... A clay snail. He's supposed to be a hermit crab, but he looks like a snail…” He mumbled, dropping his gaze to the floor. He felt a bit silly having to confirm that all the fuss was about a little handmade knick-knack, but he'd grown attached to the clay mollusk. “... You said something about ‘sleep paralysis’? Is that..?”

“If you're wondering if that's anything that you should be worrying about, I can assure you that it's a very common occurrence, particularly with individuals who are recovering in this ward.” The hen seemed to sense his apprehension. “It can happen for a number of reasons, like something as simple as not getting enough sleep or sleeping on your back or even having a stressful day.”

“... Would having a brain injury factor into that?”

“That's certainly a possibility.”

“... I don't like it.” Jacky said in a quiet voice, grimacing. “... It feels too real.”

He must have sounded like a frightened child once he said that, as the already gentle nature of the nurse seemed to soften even more.

“If it helps to ease your mind any, Mr. QuackerJack, bouts of sleep paralysis can happen to anyone. It's just your mind waking up before the rest of you, and an active mind may go wild during this state. It's a frightening ordeal, but harmless.” She tried to assure him.

“... So what do I have to do to make them stop?”

“It depends, but the simplest thing to do is you could try not to sleep on your back.”

“... Really? That easy?” Jacky sounded as if he thought that solution sounded something like a wives’ tale or home remedy that really had no basis in fact. He did a half hearted shrug and clasped his hands together in a single clap. “Well, okay, you're the one with the medical experience here, I'll try, but what if _that_ doesn't work?”

“Then a change in sleeping habits, starting with not being awake at this hour.”

“... Can you please check on Lumpy? He's still under the drawer debris.”

“I'll take care of that for you if you make the effort to go back to sleep.” The nurse said gently. “You need to let your brain rest, Mr. QuackerJack.”

“... I made the mess, I should at least help clean up, it's only fair.”

“Don't worry about it, it's all part of the job anyway.” The hen said with a bit of a laugh to her voice, which did not sound mocking. Jacky kind of liked that. “Night Shift would be too quiet otherwise, and we really have to stay on our toes if there's an emergency on this floor.”

“... I don't remember throwing that.”

“You don't have to apologize, Mr. QuackerJack, I understand.” The nurse reassured him as she pulled the nightstand from the floor and turned it upright. The missing drawer made it look like it had a gaping hole in the front. She crossed the room to sift through the splintered mess of particleboard.

“I _want_ to apologize.” Jacky said quietly.

The clay snail was pushed into his hands, appearing to be unscathed.

“Does he look alright, or should I get anything for some patching up?”

“... He looks fine.” Jacky mumbled, cautiously turning the figure in his hands before tentatively placing it on the surface of the battered nightstand, and climbing back on the bed.

The jester costume was picked up and given a few shakes to dislodge any debris.

“There's some holes, I'm sorry, Mr. QuackerJack.”

“... Actually, I was wearing that when I fell through a window, those were already there.” Jacky said in a monotone. “There was a lot of glass.”

“Oh, is that how you got hurt? You poor man.”

It had honestly been a long time since he could remember the last time anyone referred to him as anything other than “clown” or various other similar phrases that could double as being called “fool”.

Well, except maybe Claire, who consistently referred to him as “Jacky”, such a sweet and friendly sounding nickname. He much enjoyed that, so much so that he quickly warmed up to that as his preferred choice of labeling.

But anyway, Jacky could not remember the last time he'd been referred to as something other than some form of “fool” by anyone outside of his very small circle. It was a nice change of pace.

“I don't remember how it all happened, since I hit my head, but I'm told that it was a pretty bad spill.” He said as he was handed the tattered costume, which he folded very carefully and set on the nightstand as well. He gave a small smile and nodded a gesture of “Thank you.”

Maybe it was how the nurse responded to him, but Jacky couldn't help but feel more at ease than he had been at the start of this whole sleep paralysis mess. The nurse was friendly and understanding, as was most of the staff around here, and while he would have preferred to be in the company of Claire (a near impossibility for this hour, due to visiting time being over ages ago), he greatly appreciated the patience the hen had shown with him.

* * *

Jacky honestly hadn't paid much mind to what seasonal month it must have been by now. If his math was correct, then it had been about seven months since he'd initially had the breakdown that had resulted in this whole mess to begin with. Four months that he couldn't remember, and the three or so months he'd been in this hospital, recovering. So, it most certainly had to be autumn by now, and the orange-ish color beginning to take over the deciduous flora was proof enough at that.

 _You missed half of spring and near all of summer because of that whole mess._ The inner voice chimed, sounding about as disappointed as he felt at the idea. _It's going to get too cold to go outside soon, you're going to be stuck indoors for a whole winter._

“I like fall.” Jacky said, almost a little too loudly, mostly to drown out the little voice. “It has all these lovely shades of orange and red, and the leaves are just so pretty.”

“You've got quite a view from the window, too.” Claire said, letting him lean into her as they sat on the edge of the bed to look out the large window to the world outside. “If the parking lot was there, you wouldn't see as many trees.”

“Probably would enjoy it more if I was allowed outside more often.”

“The weather's been getting colder, I think they're just probably concerned about you getting sick or something from the chilly breeze.”

“It's not that bad out there, besides, I'm sure I could use a scarf and knit cap or something. Heck, I think they keep the temperature in here colder than out there right now anyway.” He mumbled sourly, shaking his head. “I'm not gonna get the plague if I step on a leaf.”

“But, you might catch a cold.”

“I could catch a cold just by being here, too. Doesn't matter how prepared I am, someone could just sneeze on me. That's not a valid argument, Claire.” Jacky said in an almost playful tone.

“Well, maybe so, but you have to admit that the weather has been getting a bit colder lately.” Claire reasoned.

“All the more reason to enjoy what's left of the nice days before winter hits.” Jacky said in a bit of a whine. “My whole summer was shot, that's not very fair.”

“It's not like we can't do anything during fall and winter.”

“Seasonal coffees are out, on account of the sugar and caffeine, and I haven't been given to okay for moderate consumption of that yet.”

“There's more for fall and winter than pumpkin spice lattes, Jacky.

“Most, if not all, of the fall time goodies are all sweets. And no, we're not going ‘sugar free’, that's just chemicals as a stand-in. And it just doesn't taste the same.”

“We got plenty of time to enjoy that later.”

“Seasonal treats are seasonal, though.”

“Shelf life's a bit longer than that.”

“ _Who wants stale gingerbread? _”__ Jacky sounded disproportionately appalled at the thought. He sat upright and stared at her as if that was craziest thing he'd heard in a while _ _.__

“I could just bake it, then. It won't be stale if I just make it fresh.” Claire couldn't help but smile a little at his expression before she had said that.

“But, then it won't be _seasonal._ ” Jacky sounded just a little offended at the notion. “Gingerbread is a _seasonal_ treat.”

“Only if you make it seasonal. You do know that ginger snaps are available year round, don't you?”

“But, it's not the _same._ Gingerbread is seasonal, that's how it works.”

“Next thing you're going to do is tell me peppermint is only to be consumed during the holidays.”

“Only if they're in cane form. Peppermint candy discs are fine anytime.”

“Now, why is that different, but the gingerbread absolutely must be seasonal, Jacky?”

“Because, that's just the way things are!” Jacky said in a bit of a bratty tone of voice. “Do you watch Christmas movies in July? No, because it's not how it's done! Yuh-you put things into total chaos that way, there's no limits and then you don't have anything specific to do for the seasonal times!”

“... They're serving pumpkin spice lattes in the hospital cafe right now, just a heads up.”

Jacky made a noise somewhere between croak and a squawk, as if he lacked the ability to utter the sound he had intended.

“That's not _proper._ ” Jacky finally managed in a low voice, folding his arms with a pouty expression. “As if I didn't have problems with trying to keep track of time to begin with, now the constants have to be all out of place. It's not right.”

“You can't tell me that you've never wanted to eat a candy cane in August at least once.”

“... September.”

There was a snort of a laugh.

“So, what's the problem, then?” Claire said as she watched his face darken with a reddish hue. There was a pause before she added: “... It's not really about the seasonal treats, is it?”

“... I missed a lot of time, Claire.” Jacky mumbled, giving a bit of an uncomfortable squirm to shift his seated position. “... Four months is a long time. It's one-third of a year. I'm never getting that back, you know? I can't believe it's already going to be autumn again, because I missed almost all of summer…”

“Yes, there's a lot of missed time, but you're here now.”

“But, I wasn't before. I _wasn't_ here, and I missed so much and I still don't remember any of what I did during the-!”

Jacky stopped speaking abruptly as Claire caught his beak in a gentle silencing hold with her hand. He blinked and looked at her pitifully, managing a muffled whimper.

“And you don't have force yourself to remember all that; if it never comes back to you, that's alright. Your memory will heal at whatever pace it can.”

“Claire, that doesn't sound very right to me.” Jacky mumbled after he carefully pried her hand off his beak. “I mean, I don't particularly _want_ to know all the fine details, I just want to know what happened and why. And no one but me really knows what made me fall like that, and I don't know how I'm supposed to know when I _don't_ know, and-”

“But, Darkwing was there, wasn't he?”

“Yes, but he won't _tell_ me what happened. He just keeps doing this whole thing about how I should watch the rest of those tapes, and anything he _has_ told me doesn't make any sense.”

“... What has he told you?”

“Not too much, because of the whole thing about not wanting to compromise anything I may or may not have retained, but he _insists_ that Mr. Banana Brain has something to do with it.”

There was a pause. Jacky noticed the silence immediately, and raised his eyebrows slowly as he stared at her incredulously.

“... Don't tell me you believe that too, Claire?” He said in a desperate tone.

“Jacky, I really don't know what to say about that to you. If you don't remember it, anything I say could ruin what memory you did manage to keep.”

“... What did he tell you happened?”

“You know I can't tell you anything that would-”

“Yes, I know, I _know_ , it's like it's the one thing that's impossible to forget because I hear it _all the time._ ” Jacky huffed, folding his arms in an almost petulant fashion. “It's not fair.”

“Well, why don't we focus on something a little nicer right now, then? Not a good idea to get you all worked up over something you have no control on.” Claire said, hoping to steer him away from that conversation. “That limp is getting better, I've noticed.”

“Uh-huh…” Jacky said in a distant tone, eyes fixed on something just beyond Claire.

She turned to see that he was staring at the doll’s hand poking out from under the pillow (the place in which he'd stash the doll during the day “for safe keeping”), and looked back at Jacky to see him lower his eyebrows slowly, appearing as if something in his mind was trying to turn those tired, battered gears, losing himself in deep thought.

“Jacky?”

“How many feet do you think is in three stories?”

“... What?” She had honestly been thrown for a loop at that question, and it's abruptness had her temporarily forget that “feet” and “stories” were referring to building measurements. Quite frankly, in the few seconds it took her to sort the question in her mind, she had simultaneously worried that Jacky had momentarily been stricken with a bout of “word salad”.

“That must have been a thirty foot drop at least.” Jacky said, as if he hadn't noticed her confusion.

Said confusion quickly faded when Claire realized what he meant.

“Yes, I suppose that sounds like it would be.”

“I wonder if I'd fallen a shorter distance, if I'd still have this memory problem. I wonder what foot is the one that did that to my brain.”

“... I don't know, Jacky.”

There was another pause, this time from Jacky, appearing to be deep in thought once more, eyes once again locked on the plush doll’s hand sticking out from under the pillow, before he inhaled sharply, placed his hand on his head and said apologetically: “Oh no, what am I saying? You don't want to talk about that sort of thing, I'm sorry.”

Honestly, Claire was more concerned that his attention span had seemingly deteriorated twice within the time frame of three minutes.

“You keep looking at Mr. Banana Brain, is everything alright?”

“... Claire, do those hands look like they could cause bruises like the ones I had on my arms a while back?

“I'd say that they look too small to do that.”

“Exactly! Why would Darkwing insist on that being that case? Surely he can't think I'm that gullible?”

“You're getting back on that subject again, Jacky.” Claire warned gently, not wanting him to upset himself.

“I'm sorry, but it's all that's rattling around in my head right now.” Jacky shrugged. “I can't help it, I'm just curious.”

“How about if you keep talking about those nice little leaves you like so much?”

“There's not much more to say; they're pretty and I like the colors.” He said. “I just wish they'd let me go outside so I can actually _be_ there to look at them.”

* * *

**The Incident (Approximately Four Months Ago)**

“ _... Hey, QuackerJack... Can you hear me..?_ ”

Hardly.

Who was talking? He couldn't really tell, and there seemed to be a second voice joined in the muffled chatter that struggled to reach his ears. Something told him that he was familiar with those voices, but it just seemed like it was a fact that couldn't connect with anything his brain was aware of.

Everything felt sore, as if he'd been run through the wringer and flung against pavement like a wad of Nutty Putty. His face in particular, especially the right side, felt like it was… burning? It stung something fierce, like perhaps something had scraped against it, and inexplicable moisture had made his face feathers sticky and adhere to his cowl.

The ground beneath him was hard and scratchy, like perhaps concrete, but there also felt like an unknown number of little pricklies were nipping at his flesh where he lay.

His vision was blurred, his mind muddled, his body painfully heavy, and he couldn't remember where he was or why. More of those familiar voices drifted around, one in particular sounding urgent as he felt something reach under his arms and try to drag him to his feet, but he felt like his essence of being was inhabiting a ragdoll full of sawdust.

He simply let himself sink against whatever felt stable, and whatever beneath him seemed to move with great difficulty under his weight before something else joined in to assist. He coughed, then gave a weak moan of discomfort, distantly aware that his right side felt somewhat numb.

But, his head hurt.

Man, did his head hurt.

He had no idea what was going on, but he could most certainly say that, without a doubt, his head hurt and felt fragile like an overripe watermelon.

He struggled to open his eyes again and couldn't make out anything other than blurry smears of colors and shapes. It must be night time, as he could hear the chipper chirp of crickets punctuating the air before it was drowned out by a roar of noise and rushing air.

He really had no idea what was happening, and honestly, the first coherent thought to really cross his mind as his eyes drifted shut again was: _... I should have stayed home today…_

* * *

**That Same Night**

There was no way Darkwing Duck could have been able to predict this outcome in all the chaos and confusion. There was absolutely nothing he could have been able to do, especially when he had been pinned to that desk by those deceivingly strong sentient dolls, and he certainly could not have reacted fast enough once QuackerJack had crashed through the window and plummeted to the pavement below with a cry of shock and a shower of glass shards.

It had taken a lot of effort to drag QuackerJack into the backseat of the Thunderquack, mostly because Darkwing wasn't sure exactly how much damage they were dealing and if he should minimize movement of the neck and spine, or even if his handling of the deadweight that was QuackerJack's barely conscious form was causing even more damage to the terribly injured mad toy maker.

It didn't help matters much that QuackerJack was virtually mute during the procedure, save for the single reflexive shout of agony while an attempt was made to lift him over the threshold to the backseat and the occasional moan of discomfort during the route to the hospital

 _... As long as he's making noise, he's not dead yet._ Darkwing told himself more than once, glancing behind him periodically as he kept his eyes more or less fixed in front of him.

“What happened exactly, DW?”

There was an extended silence from Darkwing as he glanced behind himself again, grimacing in guilt before looking at his partner.

“... He fell, Launchpad.” He explained as brief and to the point as he could. “There was a backfire, and he was thrown out the window. I'm not sure what exactly is wrong with him, but he's in really bad shape right now.”

Darkwing suddenly became aware of the silence in the backseat and quickly turned around after a rush of panic smacked him hard, fearing that he may have just had his first body count in the back of the Thunderquack. Thankfully, the silence was simply because QuackerJack had seemingly slipped into a deep sleep (or, thinking back now, Darkwing was sure it could have been a coma), and the silence was just that his breathing was quiet and remarkably stable in that state, albeit a bit wheezy (which was difficult to hear over the engines of the Thunderquack).

If anything, QuackerJack's chest was rising and falling at a steady enough rhythm, and that was a good sign. Of course, Darkwing wasn't no doctor, so he wasn't entirely sure, but basic knowledge told him that it was a good sign.

QuackerJack was still breathing, and that was a good sign.

“... What are we going to do?” Launchpad’s voice broke the silence and Darkwing looked back at him with uncertainty, just as lost as he was.

“We're taking him to the hospital, of course.” He finally said, although it had been the obvious route to begin with. There was an almost detached automatic rhythm to his speech as he stared ahead. “... We're going to take him to the hospital, and I'm going to explain it all to Claire, and I want you to go home and make sure Gosalyn isn't staying up too late, and I'll call you when I'm ready to leave.”

“Is… is he going to be alright, DW?”

Darkwing did not answer, and remained as such for the rest of the trip.

* * *

**The Following Morning**

A faint beeping drifted to his ears, and this was when QuackerJack became aware of the fact that there was an aching soreness throughout his entire body, particularly localized to his arms and the right side of his head. The ambient noises hovering around him did not sound familiar, nor did they sound comforting, and where he lay did not feel right to him.

Forcing his tired eyes open, he stared at a ceiling above him that was not his familiar ceiling. Squinting in confusion, he turned his head slightly, and before the soreness flared up and made him squeeze his eyes shut with a faint cry of discomfort, he could make out an orange-ish glow of the start of a sunrise gently brightening the room that was not his place of residence.

This was when the anxiety began bubbling to the surface and despite the pain and the weakness it induced in his appendages, QuackerJack pulled himself into a seated upright position, leaning against a headboard, wheezing and trying to process what exactly happened.

He looked down at his arms. His sleeves were short, leaving the limbs exposed, and revealing troubling bruises that dotted along his forearms, which would be a reasonable explanation as to why his arms hurt so.

Short sleeves? He hadn't been wearing short sleeves last he recalled. In fact, unless he was mistaken, he appeared to be dressed in hospital garb.

_What in all the heck?_

He didn't even think twice as he instinctively reached for the sensors stuck to him and pulled at them, not caring that a few feather fibers stuck to the adhesive.

Why was he here? Had something happened at work? Did he have another panic attack and had to be sent to the hospital because it had been worse than the last one? His arms were bruised; had there been an accident and was he injured?

Where was Claire..?

…

…

???

!?!?

Where was Claire!?

He was panting in heavy, distressed breaths as his eyes darted frantically around the room. This was most certainly a hospital room, and he had no idea how or why he was there.

His head hurt.

Like, his head really hurt.

Where was Claire?

He didn't know what was happening.

_Where is Claire?_

His head hurt.

There's too much noise.

This was not his home.

His head hurt and his arms hurt and everything felt sore like he'd been thrown against a wall like a racquetball.

He felt bruised. What happened? _What in the world happened?_

“Claire!” He shouted finally, wanting to get to the bottom of this conundrum. He took a deep breath and shouted more desperately, absolutely panic stricken. “CLAIRE!”

* * *

**Present Day**

Darkwing was there for another visit. Of course, Jacky had come to expect that as a regular occurrence, and while it annoyed him that Darkwing still persisted in keeping the details of that day almost a total secret to himself to seemingly use that as leverage to egg Jacky into watching the rest of the tapes… Jacky did have to admit that he found it strangely comforting that Darkwing was taking such efforts to monitor him.

Even if the Duck Knight was frustrating him as all heck right now.

“Darkwing, if you're not going to tell me about what happened that night, then why are you even here?”

“I said I would explain _after_ you watch the tapes. You need to actually see it because you are probably not going to believe anything I tell you.”

“Try me.”

“I did, and you ended up punching me in the face and taking my Gas Gun.”

“That wasn't-!”

“And that's why I think it would be better if you actually saw the tapes first. You clearly didn't believe or understand what I told you about it before-”

Jacky slammed his hands on the table between them in frustration and said in a low voice: “Because what you are telling me doesn't make sense to me. I would not have tried to replace Mr. Banana Brain, and Mr. Banana Brain would never hurt me.”

“While that's not an incorrect statement, I think you really should-”

“I WILL NOT LOOK AT THOSE TAPES UNTIL YOU TELL ME WHAT TO EXPECT.”

“That would be considered compromising your pre-existing memories.”

“... Oh my-! You have no idea how tired I am of hearing the word ‘compromise’.”

Darkwing did not respond to that, but strangely placed a newspaper on the table and picked up the front page to read as if this was not an odd action to do during a conversation. He opened it with a quick shake and lifted it up as if some tiny article on his side of the papers was very interesting to him

Jacky blinked, and tilted his head slightly to read the date in the top row of the front page facing him, and recognized that as a date within the week of the incident. He frowned as he realized that the front page had a big color picture of one of the now well-known stills of the surveillance tape of his attack on Whiffle Boy Entertainment, but nothing he hadn't seen before. The bold text at the last bit of the article square boasted more information on page A8.

He knew that Darkwing was trying to pique his interest. Oh, how sneaky he must have thought he was.

Grinning somewhat, Jacky reached over and pulled the top of the newspaper down a little to look at the Masked Mallard.

“Darkwing?” He said in the sweetest tone he could muster.

“Yes?”

“Could you hand me the Arts and Entertainment section? I haven't read the funny papers in months.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the longer wait than the rest. Kinda had stuff happening, a mix of "my house has been dealing with weather damages", my ADHD easily distracting me with other things (*cough* Minecraft on Switch *cough*), and also, I got a birthday coming up. Enjoy the chapter, yay~

Of course, he had yet to watch the rest of the tapes. Perhaps now out of stubbornness and spite, as the cardboard box containing them remained tucked in a corner and so he had nothing really stopping him aside from his own inhibitions. Well, that and the horrible mockery of his little banana buddy that was taking residence in the box because Darkwing refused to remove it from the premises no matter how much Jacky pleaded with him to take it far, far away.

He just couldn't figure out how and why that thing came to be, because he was absolutely certain there was no way such a face could be envisioned by his hand. Sure, he's made toys that had a sort of twist to their designs aplenty, but most certainly never anything that stared at him with such a… well, such a mean look. It made Jacky's skin crawl and stole his breath from him, and it drove him crazy that he didn't understand why it made him feel that way.

Such a nasty little thing.

Darkwing, of course, made sure to leave that stupid newspaper behind, and left it folded on top of the cardboard box, as if he thought it would catch Jacky's interest. Oh, how clever he must have thought he was; it was honestly infuriating how Darkwing was doing everything he could to not answer a simple question.

_What reason does he have to go through such lengths to hide that from you? He's toying with you; he either doesn't really know or he knows and he's taking joy in you not knowing…_

If he was going to be perfectly frank, Jacky was getting tired of that little internal voice. It was neither helpful nor insightful, and it just seemed to be constantly parroting his concerns like a broken record. He couldn't tell if it was being intentionally malicious, or if it just didn't know any better. And personally, he didn't care either way.

He picked up the newspaper with the intent of shoving it in the box along with the rest of the useless junk he wanted out of his sight, but hesitated when it unrolled as he lifted it from the top of the box. He was now staring at the front page image, full color, ink slightly smudged from whatever reason, but legible nonetheless.

It was a picture still frame from one of the surveillance tapes, and goodness, Jacky never felt more detached from a photo of himself than he did with this one. Even with the dotted ink newsprint, the sight of that wide empty grin that was spread across his face just seemed so chilling, as if it simply wasn't himself in control. The way his feet set on the floor, his posture, the glassy eyes… oh, this was a bad photo of him, very bad. Very, very bad.

It was then he realized that the fold of the newspaper had caused him to overlook another detail. Frowning, he grabbed both the top and bottom of the page and straightened it out to see better. Dots. Dotted little speckles of color made the image, but he squinted and pulled the page away from his face to better make out the thing in the image, which appeared to be something vaguely familiar in shape, something that sat in his hands in the image.

It looked like, for lack of a better term, a “sharp banana”.

At that precise moment, Jacky felt as if his very essence of being had transcended to another plane of existence and simply could not connect with his physical form. It was hard to describe, but it felt like he was nowhere, absolutely nowhere, free falling down a rabbit hole of uncertainty as he gawked at that image in the newsprint. His ears did not hear, his eyes simply saw nothing but that photograph, his chest felt heavy, his limbs felt weak, his head felt fuzzy and full of cotton.

He wasn't sure how he managed, but somehow he was able to fight his way through the mental haze and back to reality, blinking in confusion as he realized he'd safely fallen backwards into the visitor chair during this bout of disorientation. The newspaper was still clenched tightly in his shaky hands, crinkling as his rigid fingers dug into the pages. It was a wonder how he hadn't torn the paper in half in his daze.

_Well, ain't that a kick in the head? Sure looks like you do know about that scary looking banana thing after all._

He really didn't know how to respond to that, he didn't even know if he _could_ respond to that, he just simply stared at the image on the page mutely.

_You know that's true deep down, you wanted to deny it so badly, but you know that he's one of your creations._

Jacky calmly folded the newspaper and set it on the top of the cardboard box, then carefully stood from the chair and stepped to the bed to grab his pillow, buried his face and screamed into it to muffle the noise as he dropped back into the chair.

_You can't keep ignoring me, you're going to have to respond eventually. Although, I suppose that screaming into a pillow is good instant emotional therapy. I guess. I'm not a doctor._

He still did not respond directly to that internal voice, but felt himself instinctively curl around that pillow, bringing his feet off the floor and sinking into a less traditional position in the chair, essentially squeezing his entire balled up body between the two armrests, making his world feel very small and contained. It was oddly comforting that way, even if it was going to make the back of his neck sore once he got up again.

_Oh, very well, whatever makes you feel better, I'll be here when you get back to me on that. Take your time, I can wait._

It didn't matter to him, really. He had no memory of creating that twisted incarnation of his dear little buddy, so he didn't have to own up to it as far he felt. It was not his. It was not his and he was going to just stay there and listen to the rhythm in his breaths, because it was not his.

Jacky wasn't sure how long he must have been laying there, but he eventually heard a light and polite sounding knock on the door of his room, which made him sit up quickly, flinching from the tired and sore muscles of his neck as he flung a hand to it while he stepped awkwardly to the door.

“... Yes..?” His voice sounded softer and more tired than he'd intended to sound, if also a bit raspy as well, as if he was on the verge of bursting into tears. Which in itself he thought odd because he thought he had been doing quite well at keeping it together at the moment.

The latch clicked loudly and door was pushed open to let Claire in, who set her canvas tote bag down on the floor and immediately looked at him with concern.

“What happened? You're upset, Jacky.”

Honestly, he was confused as to how she could tell, until he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the gleam of the observation window at that angle, and was stunned to see tears were actively rolling down his face.

He absolutely hated how his emotional state didn't sync up with with he wanted to present things. He probably looked like a mess.

Jacky cursed under his breath and roughly wiped his face with his arm, continuing to mumble words of displeasure to himself before he finally spoke to her, feeling warm in the face.

“... Nothing, it's just… bad day, I'm just having a bad day…”

He didn't have much time to respond when he realized she had grabbed his hand and led him to his bed, practically lifted him onto it (which honestly surprised him, as he gawked), stacked the pillows behind him to prop him up comfortably, and pulled the cord to the window shades to open them up and let in more light.

Jacky blinked several times.

“... Okay, but the fact that it's nice outside doesn't really help at all if I'm stuck in this boring hospital room.”

“But, it does help if you've been spending the whole morning in a dark room.”

“... Fair point.” He agreed quietly, watching Claire as she stepped around the bed to get the canvas bag from the other side of the room. “What's up with the bag?”

“Well, I thought it might be a breath of fresh air to bring something to do since you've been feeling cooped up.”

“Oh?” He was definitely curious now, and the earlier shock of the newspaper discovery was pushed to the back of his mind as he sat up straighter. “Like what kind of things?”

“Just some puzzle books and cards and a few crafts.” She said, dumping the bag on the bed and spreading out the contents. “You sound better already.”

“Gosh, I don't know if I'd be any good at crafts anymore, with my dexterity being affected from the head injury, but that all does sound nice.”

“You don't have to be good at it all, the goal here is to have fun.”

“... I like fun. Fun is good.” Jacky smiled weakly and reached for a sealed pack of playing cards. “Oh, these are nice. I like the old simple ones, there's so much you can do with them.”

“You want to play with the cards?”

“Now, now, let me look at the rest of the stuff first before I figure out what I want to do. The other things sound good too.”

“Now, I admit that it's nothing too fancy, but I tried to go for variety and not make it too simple, because we need to work that brain a little.”

“Oh, but it's still healing.” Jacky said with a playfully singsong tone. “Do go easy on it; it's such a fragile thing.”

“You certainly seem to be in a better mood now.”

“You're here.” He said. “It makes a deal of difference when one isn't alone.” Jacky picked up one of the books and looked at it, idly flipping through the pages. “Oh? Sudoku? That's a number puzzle, are you sure that's not going to be too complicated? I mean, I'm good with numbers, but I haven't really done math stuff, at least since after the accident.”

“It starts simple and gets harder when you get further in the book, I think it might be good to give it a try.” Claire smiled at him. “You can also work on them when I'm not around, so it'll give you something to do besides just waiting for company.”

“Oh, you thought of everything, didn't you?” He closed the book and set it on the bedside table. “... So, how much about what I did do you know about?”

“Jacky, you _know_ I can't say anything that'll-”

“-Compromise my retained memory, I know that, I'm not asking you to tell me what happened, I just want to know if you know a lot or a little on what went down.”

“Jacky-”

“Would you still be coming here if you knew if I’d hurt anyone?”

Before she could really process what he had said (as he'd spoken so abruptly), Claire realized that the spark behind his eyes that had lit up when she'd shown him the bag full of activities was now snuffed, and he seemed just as listless and forlorn as he'd been that day she'd been called to take him home from QuackWerks after he'd had an anxiety attack in the middle of the day.

Her unintentional silence caused him to squeak in a way that really didn't help resolve the issue much. He was upset, he'd been upset this whole time, and he was going to continue being upset until his current worry was put to rest. She had a feeling that this was probably connected to why he'd been wiping tears from his face when she got there.

She needed to defuse the situation before he got the wrong idea.

“You're having a bad day, Jacky, what's wrong?”

“... Claire, that doesn't answer my question.”

“And I don't think I can give you a satisfying answer. If I say yes or no, you'll still be upset, just for different reasons.”

“So which one is the right answer?”

“Jacky, I have been coming here at every single possible chance, and I have been doing so since you were brought here, are you really thinking I have doubts about you?”

His answer was something inaudible due to his voice pitch having raised to a distressed squawk, but the rhythm of the statement was clear that he was, as she suspected, upset with the answer, and it had done nothing to douse those rising negative feelings.

 _Be patient with him, he's still recovering, and doesn't always understand why he's doing things like this…_ Claire reminded herself as she briefly pinched the bridge of her beak, trying to find a peaceful way to resolve this.

“Okay, why don't we start this over? What's on your mind, Jacky? What's got you so worked up?”

Another inaudible stream of high pitched words escaped him as he gestured along with it this time, in the general direction of the cardboard box in the corner. This time, the words “banana monster” seemed to sound off more clearly, along with “front page” and “dunno”. At this point, Claire realized there was a newspaper folded on top of the cardboard box, and wondered if this was the source of the distress. She made the motion to step towards it to inspect it, but Jacky shook his head very quickly, and grabbed her arm with a desperate noise of dread.

“... D-Don't look at that, I don't want you to…”

“Okay.”

He clearly hadn't expected that response. He let go of her arm as his grip had gone slack. He stared as if genuinely confused by the turn of events.

“... You're not supposed to give up that fast.”

“It really doesn't do either of us a bit of good to drag this out. So, if you say you don't want me to look at that, then I won't. We'll find something else to do.”

“... You're really not going to ask why I don't want you to look at that newspaper?”

“You said ‘no’, so I won't.”

Jacky sat there, hands folded loosely in his lap, legs crossed at the ankles, staring at his feet for a solid minute.

“... That's not how that works.” He said, looking up finally. “You can't tell me you're not the least bit curious about why I'm upset over newsprint.”

“I never said that I wasn't curious; I said that I won't look at it because you asked me not to.”

“... That's not the way that's supposed to go.” Jacky seemed to have forgotten momentarily that he'd been upset about something else entirely. He frowned just a little bit. “Why aren't you prying more about that?”

“Because I came here to have a nice quiet afternoon with you, so you can get your mind off all that.”

“... Darkwing would have-”

“Did Darkwing leave that newspaper in here?” “... Kinda. I wanted it because it had the comic pages.”

“And he left the whole thing, not just the comic pages?”

“... Yes.”

“... Of course he did.” Claire said in a tone that suggested that she didn't expect otherwise. Before she could ask further on the concept, she noticed that Jacky was actively trying to peel the protective plastic off of a deck of cards, but because he couldn't quite get leverage on the corner edge, he did what just about everyone does at some point in that predicament and bit down on the edge of the plastic to tear it off the more practical way. “Oh, you think you want to use the cards first?”

Jacky spat that little corner piece of plastic wrap out of his mouth before answering.

“I'm not sure yet, but I kind of want to see the deck design first.” He said, pulling the cards out of the box and spreading them across the bedspread. “Ooh, retro classic, nice. I like.”

“I figured you'd prefer that over some licensed-”

“Let's make a card house.”

“Card house?” Claire hadn't expected such a concept to be tossed out in the open so soon. “Are you sure your hands are steady enough for that right now?”

“I got some modeling compound left over, we could cheat a bit and use it like putty to hold them together.” Jacky grinned, already rifling through the bedside table drawer. “It's not cheating; I'm adapting.”

Claire would have to agree on that, if only because it was nice to see him light up like that at the thought.

* * *

He really did not like having to ride in the Thunderquack by now. Not that he could recall ever enjoying a ride before in any of his retained memories, but he knew his last few rides were less than desirable.

That said, he could not decide if this ride was any better than the last time, as he felt just as disoriented and miserable as before. It wasn't so much that it was a rough ride (the orientation of the aircraft was quite smooth, amazingly enough), it was just that he was finding the movement incredibly uncomfortable.

He was absolutely certain now that he was susceptible to airsickness, and could only hope he would fair better with a land bound vehicle.

“... Whuh-why couldn't we juh-just use the other thing..?” Jacky stuttered through clenched teeth, trying to keep them from chattering.

“Could you imagine us trying to fit four people on the Ratcatcher? Not happening; it's just not practical or safe.”

“... At least it'd be on the guh-ground.”

“Yeah, but this way is faster anyway.”

Jacky wasn't really in the mood to argue much at all; while precautions _had_ been taken to make the ride easier on his frail constitution, it still wasn't totally foolproof, so he still felt somewhat queasy. It probably didn't help that it all made him feel vulnerable, which was a feeling he was getting all too used to now.

“... Remind me again why we're going there?” Claire voiced the exact same thought he had had.

“Well, as it turns out, when Jacky tried to flush the tapes down the toilet, there had in fact been one that was damaged in the process, and I'm hoping to be able to retrieve another copy.”

“You said those weren't the master tapes! What happened to the copies you already had!” Jacky snapped.

“... It's a funny story involving a skateboard and a… You know what, it's not really important how it happened, I just need to get the tape for the case we're building.”

“... Dunno why you had to bring me along, I can't imagine what I could do to help…”

Jacky didn't exactly hear the response as his senses suddenly tuned out (from what he could only assume was a bout of sensory overload), and he was left staring at Darkwing in absolute confusion.

“... I'm sorry, what?” He mumbled, feeling heat spreading across his face. He swallowed.

“To be honest, I hadn't planned on bringing you along, but you've been wanting to get out of that hospital room.”

“Then take me to the park or something! I swear, it feels like you are harassing me like this on purpose, Darkwing.”

“You don't have to go into the building with me, I just have to grab the tape and I'll be out of there in a few minutes, I really don't have any other reason to be there.”

“Then get the tapes on your own time and stop dragging me along in this barf inducing contraption, I am seriously losing my nerve right now!”

Jacky wasn't really exaggerating; the continuous stacking of one little discomfort after another was steadily chipping away at his tolerance levels, and being disoriented while being contained in the backseat of an airborne vehicle wasn't helping in keeping him calm. The shuddering of the aircraft vibrated through his nervous system, and agitated his sensitivity to motion. He was absolutely envious of everyone else's resistance to the sensation, and cursed the head injury for being the catalyst for the ailment.

“... He's just having a bad day right now.” Claire said apologetically, and the tone honestly struck a nerve with Jacky, who immediately felt like he might have been unreasonable.

“... You don't have to excuse my behavior, Claire. If I'm out of line, don't hesitate to remind me to calm down…” He said quietly, fidgeting restlessly as he kept his eyes locked on the window beside him. “... I know I don't exactly make it easy…”

“Well, I have to agree with you a little; it's a bit unnecessary to drag you along with him to get those tapes.”

“Thank you! Yes!” Jacky clapped his hands rhythmically. “You hear that, Darkwing? You should do that on your own time, and leave me out of this.”

“I have a life outside of this, you know?” Darkwing heaved a sigh through his teeth and shot a glare over the headrest of the front seat.

“Don't talk to me about that, your secret identity is the whole reason I even lost Mr. Banana Brain to begin with!”

“Excuse me! You are in no position to making accusations like that, you are just as responsible-!”

At that exact moment, the built-in radio was turned up to a level loud enough to drown them out, while still not being ear-blastingly thunderous (though, Jacky clapped his hands to his head in reaction to the sudden noise, which honestly didn't do much to help his discomfort). Three sets of eyes immediately shifted towards the pilot, and Launchpad grinned sheepishly as he turned the volume dial to the left.

“Sorry.”

“... Are we there yet..?” Jacky sank back into his seat, appearing to be quite miserable again and shivered as a chill ran through him. “... I don't want to sound rude… but… I feel gross…”

“Gross as in ‘uncomfortable gross’ or ‘sick gross’?” Claire looked at him.

“... Yes.”

“Oh.” There was a cringing expression that crossed her face briefly before she spoke to the front of the vehicle. “Yeah, he's not doing too good right now, what's the ETA for touching solid ground?”

“... Never had this problem before… stupid head injury…” Jacky mumbled under his breath, shaking his head and pushing a foot against the seat in front of him and kicked. “... Stupid, stupid, can't go anywhere without getting sick, hate this, I hate this, this is the absolute worst, I hate this, ugh…”

The seat he was kicking happened to be Darkwing's, and Claire could see that the Masked Mallard was very close to snapping about that, but seemed to bite his tongue in regards to the situation, and tried a different approach.

“Jacky.” He said in a very forced calm tone. “Is there anything I can do to make this ride any easier on you.”

“Land the aircraft, get me out of here.”

“Well, I can't do that, I'm not the pilot and we're just not there yet.” Darkwing's grin was very deliberate, and it wasn't hard to see that he was also losing his patience, but he at least had the consideration to remember that he was dealing with an ailing individual. “I can, however, direct the AC vents your way, or bring to your attention that there are airsickness bags tucked into that pocket on the back of the seat that you currently have your foot on.”

“... I wanna get out of here…” Jacky's eyes were round and he reached out awkwardly for Claire's hand, appearing to be increasingly distressed as the seconds passed. “... I… I don't like this…”

“Jacky, are you feeling alright?” Claire had a feeling that she knew what was going on with him right now, but it was important to approach subject carefully. She took his hand.

“No.”

“What's got you upset?”

“... I-I dunno.” He stammered, clenching his jaw shut, which was starting to shake along with the rest of him.

“Can you breathe?”

“... It's a little heavy…”

“Is there anything that can be done to help?”

“... Get me outta here…”

“We're working on that, can you hang on for a little longer?”

“... I want out… I feel gross…” He brought his feet up to rest them on his seat.

“Jacky, do you feel like you're having a panic attack?”

“... I don't want to be in here…”

Before anything else could be said between the two of them, a small boxy object was pushed in front of Jacky face, and he stared at it in confusion.

“Here, fidget with this.” Darkwing said in an almost matter-of-fact tone. “You like old toys, it's a puzzle cube.”

Jacky blinked several times, anxiety still squirming in his frame. He didn't seem to recognize that as an earnest gesture, and almost looked somewhat offended.

“I can barely make anything decent out of clay, what makes you think that I can solve a puzzle cube with brain damage!”

“Who said anything about solving it? I figured you might want something else to focus on, and you can just spin the pieces around."

"I know how a puzzle cube works... Why do you even have one of these laying around, anyway?"

"Do you want it or not?"

Jacky stared at him, squinting and cocking his head to the side, before he snatched the cube with shaky hands and a mumble of gratitude, then proceeded to idly rotate the pieces in a jumble of colors.

"... I still feel gross, and I still want out of here…" He grunted discontentedly.

"You're welcome."

After what felt like forever enough, the Thunderquack finally jolted to a stop, and the puzzle cube fell from Jacky's hands as he lurched forward with the movement in a dazed sort of state of mind. There was a pause before he started fumbling with the seat belt in a desperate attempt to free himself from the safety restraints.

"Get me out of this thing! I want out! I never even wanted to come along in the first place, I don't know how you managed to talk me into this, get this stupid thing off me!" He screamed, very obviously forgetting that to free himself, he simply had to disengage the latch for the seat belt.

Of course, trying to reason with him in this state was useless, and it was best for one to work around his panic while acknowledging his feelings were valid and that they were doing their best to accommodate him. Once untangled from the restraints, Jacky wasted no time in trying to climb into front seat to presumably crawl out the exit hatch, clawing at the windows in an anxiety fueled crazed bid for freedom, screeching like a mad thing.

Somewhere among the chaos, Darkwing found himself wondering how he could have possibly been kicked in the beak, twice, as Jacky continued to scrabble his hands across the smooth glass.

"... If you just wait for a few seconds, we'll be happy to get the doors open so you can step outside, Jacky." Darkwing said in a very level tone, as Jacky froze. The Masked Mallard prodded at his own jaw to assess the soreness levels. "There is absolutely no danger in here."

Jacky stared at him in a total state of stupor, as if he could barely understand the words that had just been spoken to him. Darkwing took this as a moment to push him away and onto the hump between the two front seats, where he sat awkwardly, still appearing to be very confused.

Jacky blinked rapidly for a few seconds before pressing his hands to his forehead with a weak noise of discomfort, then rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"... Whu-where am I..?" His voice escaped him in a mumble, and he lifted his head to look around. "... Whuzhappenin..? I thought I was over there..?" He gestured hesitantly to the empty seat beside Claire, before pressing a hand to his head again. "... My head hurts…"

There was a brief flash of concern that crossed Darkwing's face, as if he seemed to be wondering if Jacky may have struck his head during the scuffle, as this seemed to be compounded with a state of confusion and lack of awareness.

"Should... should we do something about that?" He looked at Claire, as if hoping she'd be more knowledgeable in the intricate details of the physical health of the toy maker duck. "Is he alright?"

"He gets like that after an anxiety attack, he'll usually be fine in a couple of hours. He's just a little drained; it wears him out."

"But, he's okay, right? Because, if he gets injured on my watch again-"

"Yes, this is normal, surprisingly. I've been with him for a good long while now, I'm absolutely sure. There's a certain way he acts when something is wrong, trust me, we'll know if we need to worry."

Jacky continued to look around before settling his gaze outside the windshield, rolling his eyes upward to look at the building they were parked in front of. A look of recognition and disdain flashed across his face.

"... Oh. Right… the tapes." He mumbled, at least sounding coherent now. He frowned sourly and pulled his line of sight towards Darkwing. "... Can you make that quick, please? I don't want to be here, I don't like how it makes me feel…"

"'Feel' as in resurfacing memories kind of feel or-?" Darkwing started to say before being cut off.

" _No!_ " Jacky said loudly, sounding very annoyed. "Geeze, no, not every emotional stirring has to have a reason to it, I just don't like the idea of being here! Go get the stupid tapes so we can leave!"

"Would you at least like to step outside the Thunderquack so you can get some air while you wait?"

"Whatever, I don't care, I'm not having a good time right now, that'd be nice, thank you."

That had been said with a tone that gradually shifted from frustration to calm acceptance in one breath.

Darkwing grumbled under his breath something to the effect of "It's like dealing with middle-aged baby.", to which Jacky snapped back: " _I am not that old._ "

Claire exchanged an exasperated look with Launchpad, who shrugged.

"Can I at least get my feet on solid ground, please, before you harass me further?"

"I am not harassing you!"

* * *

Jacky couldn't really remember the last time he felt the texture of asphalt under his feet. Maybe not so much because he couldn't recall due to his memory issues, but probably because he'd long made it a habit to keep the sensitive bottoms of his webbed feet covered with his soft soled shoes. The rough ground texture always seemed to irritate him, and he couldn't understand how many Ducks just seemed to walk about as if it simply wasn't an issue. The pavement's surface, while a little better, was just too hard and didn't have much give like the dirt ground had.

Because of this, he kept his feet on the lower bar of the stool as he sat down at the counter, looking around curiously.

"I haven't been to one of these places in _months!_ " He said loud and earnestly.

With such enthusiasm, one would probably assume it was a sort of amusement park that had captivated him, but no, it was a simple Hamburger Hippos establishment. But, to him, it might as well have been the swankiest place in town.

"Well, you've been doing well with your recovery, and we got the okay for you to have a bit of a treat." Claire explained, smiling a little bit at the bouncing he was doing in the seat. "But, we still have to be cautious, since you haven't really had junk food in months, so it's not going to be anything too extravagant."

"Aw, so I can only get one thing, then?" Jacky seemed mildly disappointed before it really sunk in that he was really going to be able to have his first taste of fast food he could recall in recent memory. He grinned again. "Okay… nothing too extravagant, then. Cheeseburger?"

"Are you absolutely sure that's what you want? Because once we place the order down, we can't change it."

"Yep. Cheeseburger, please." Jacky nodded excitedly before a concerned look crossed his face. "... Wait, if we're going to get a ride back, should I really be eating if I'm just going to be sick again..?"

"... That's a good point. I suppose we could just bag it and give it to you when we get back to the hospital."

"Aw, but I'll have to wait until I'm not feeling gross, and it'll be cold by then." He huffed with a pouty expression before heaving a sigh. "... But, I suppose it's still better than not having a cheeseburger, and these aren't too bad cold. Not looking forward to the ride back, not gonna lie. But, on the other hand… Cheeseburger."

Of course, as explained, he had to wait to eat the cheeseburger (a waiting process that was made even more miserable by the bumpy ride back in the Thunderquack, with him audibly cursing under his breath every other minute), and even upon arrival to his temporary residence, Jacky had to wait a few hours until his stomach settled and he felt confident enough to be able to take a bite without losing it.

A very simple cheeseburger. Nothing too extravagant. Cheese, simple burger patty on a bun, ketchup, mustard…

But, he hadn't eaten anything remotely classified as junk food in months, so it was quite the emotional rollercoaster ride for him. He took one bite of the cold value menu cheeseburger and he was seized with such a sensation of euphoria that he found himself in tears despite not being sad at that moment.

Claire put a hand on his shoulder, as she had been sitting beside him while he ate, and he leaned sideways into her as he took another bite of burger.

"... I'm fine, I just forgot how good these things tasted." He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand as he grinned weakly. "Gosh, I'm getting all emotional over a sandwich… But, to be fair, I haven't had one of these in… I don't know, really. Quite honestly, I do not know. The last time I recall being there, we got fries and the tables were a little sticky, and I started those scrapbooks, the scrapbooks that didn't get dusty..." He swallowed and took another bite, eyes watering again. "... I'd had a nightmare the night before that, didn't I? That's what started all of this, wasn't it? You had to wake me up because I had a nightmare, and we talked about balloons for the rest of the night, until I fell asleep again. I remember that all so clearly, and now I can barely remember half the things I do anymore…"

"You're recovering, Jacky, it's going to be a long journey, but you've made progress." Claire tried to assure him. "You're walking much better now."

"I still limp a little."

"It's really not that noticeable."

"I notice it." Jacky insisted, taking one last bite of burger, silently disappointed that it hadn't lasted very long (he had a habit of taking large bites). "I'm very much aware that I'm just not as agile anymore."

Before he could really say anything else, Claire took his hand and pulled him to his feet. He blinked curiously as she took his other hand and slipped her fingers between his in an interlocking hold. His face turned pink under the feathers and he stammered awkwardly, feeling like he was turning to mush. It was not the first time he's held her hand, no of course not, but hand holding always felt so intimate to him, more so than other kinds of contact, and he just didn't know why.

Maybe it was just the simplicity of it. Darn if he knew.

She pulled him forward, then to the side, then gently pushed him back to where they had started, in an almost rhythmic way. It took him a few rounds before he understood what exactly was happening.

"... Claire, I can't dance. My balance is terrible now."

"You don't have to be good at it, just have fun."

"... I like fun." He admitted in a quiet voice, eyes locked to the floor as he tried to follow along with her steps. He couldn't help but feel like there was a definite delay between what he saw and his reflective movements. Not only that, but his awkward gait seemed to be so glaringly primitive compared to her more refined footwork. "... There's no music."

"We don't need it."

He could remember when there was a time where he had been quite the performer, quick on his feet and an impressive center of gravity that seemed to make it near impossible to throw him off balance. Now, here he was, shuffling with less finesse than a toddler. Embarrassing.

"... I can't do this."

"Try bending your knees."

"I'll fall. I can't dance, Claire."

"You won't. I got you." She rested a hand on his side, just under his arm.

His feathers ruffled briefly at the touch, and his face went from pink to red as a nervous giggle escaped him.

"... I don't remember if we've ever done this before. Have we done this before?"

"Not in a hospital room, I'm sure." He looked down at the floor to watch his steps again, but she let go of his hand to slide hers under his chin and lift his head. "Don't look at the floor, just trust me."

"Well, I do, but I need to see where my feet are going."

"You'll be fine, just look at me, you can do it."

Two steps forward. Two steps back. Repeat. Nice and simple. Certainly, he could do that, in theory.

He felt his foot hit against his other heel, and stumbled. It took him a moment to realize that he'd done so right into Claire, and was staring ahead in blank confusion before trying to instinctively push away in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry! I tripped!" He threw his hands in the air and awkwardly stepped back. "I told you, I can't do it!"

"You were doing just fine."

"I was just shuffling my feet on the floor."

"That sounds like dancing."

"Not very well."

"I wasn't aware this was a competition with anyone else."

"... Well, I mean, when you say it like that…" Jacky lowered his arms and spoke in a lower tone, dropping his gaze to the floor again. "... I just don't think I can do it. There's _ducklings_ that have better balance than me right now."

"I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to still try it. Surely, that would be better for you than just sitting around, just as long as you don't push your limits too much?"

There was a pause, then Jacky smiled a little, and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Well, if you don't let me fall, I suppose we could give it another go." He grinned. "But this time, let's try it a little slower."

"Sounds like a good way to start."

"Are you leading?"

"If you want."

"That sounds nice."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I expected, but I wanted to end the chapter on an optimistic note

As time passed, it seemed that the ever looming certainty that Jacky would have to inevitably return to St. Canard Penitentiary to finish the rest of his sentence (including any new charges tacked on after the incident at Whiffle Boy Entertainment) was beginning to become increasingly distressing to Jacky as he became aware that the likelihood of going home anytime soon was seeming like nothing more than a fever dream.

So much so, that the anxiety was clearly beginning to affect him, and maybe it was because she'd seen that happen before, but Claire found that very unnerving to say the least.

Jacky did not handle stress very well, and while he knew it was silly to expect accommodations to be made every single time he reached a particularly difficult situation, he simply did not handle stress very well, and compounding it all was not unlike pushing on a wall made of wet sand. Something was bound to fall apart.

He insisted that he was coming down with something like a cold, and did not agree when all the regular physical exams proved otherwise.

"I really am!" He persisted, sniffling for what must have been the twelfth time during the examination. "Why isn't anyone listening? I'm getting sick! My eyes are itchy, my throat hurts, I keep coughing, and my head feels sore!"

"Mr. QuackerJack, what you seem to be experiencing is nasal allergies because of ragweed, we can easily remedy that for you."

"I think I've got a fever." He whined pitifully.

"Mr. QuackerJack, your symptoms are allergies and may be psychosomatic as well."

"Psycho-what?"

"You've gotten yourself so worked up over the idea that your body is physically replicating the symptoms of sickness, when it's likely the contrary."

"But, what if I actually am sick?"

"Then we'll take care of that. But aside from allergies and possibly some wracked nerves, you're perfectly fine, Mr. QuackerJack."

"I don't feel fine!"

"Alright, Mr. QuackerJack, if you insist, we could run the exam again. But I'm very sure the results will be very much the same."

"Your machine is wrong, then."

"Perhaps it would help if you let us finish the physical, and then we can move on to accommodating your emotional health more properly? Is there anything we can do to make this any easier on you?" The patience was audibly wearing thin.

There was a pause, before Claire was the one to speak up, but she spoke to Jacky instead.

"I'm going to be perfectly honest with you; you're really being difficult right now. I'm sure you're don't really mean to, but whatever has you in a bad mood is really not helping this. What's got you worked up, maybe we can do something for that?"

It was clear that Jacky honestly hadn't thought about how he was actually hindering the exam with his belligerence, and the statement seemed to come as a genuine surprise to him. He blinked and slowly dropped his gaze to the floor before mumbling an apology and a comment of feeling very jittery.

"I'm sure once we finish here, you'll feel better if we step outside."

"... It is nice out. But if it is allergies messing with me, I don't know if I should be outside. But I like outside..." Jacky muttered with a tone of agitation.

The second exam went well enough, with the only thing to note was his blood pressure being somewhat elevated that he had to have it taken yet again after he was instructed to take a few deep calming controlled breaths. He was surprised that about five minutes later, a shallow plastic cup had been handed to him, containing a single, pink caplet.

"... I've already had-"

"It's an antihistamine, Mr. QuackerJack, it should help alleviate your allergy symptoms for a few hours."

"... Won't those sort of pills make me feel all sleepy?"

"Some may be more resistant to the side effects than others, but it will certainly ease away the peskier symptoms."

Jacky stared at the cup shrewdly, appearing to be weighing all sides of the pros and cons with himself, frowning slightly as his eyes darted back and forth between the sides of the cup.

"... I don't know if I'm comfortable with that, wouldn't it react to what's already in my system?"

"I assure you, the necessary checks and cross referencing has been done to be absolutely certain it will not react with your system in any way it shouldn't."

Jacky continued to stare at the cup in his hand, giving it a few lazy shakes to roll the content around to make it rattle against the plastic.

 _Do you really think it wise to gulp down more pills around here, Jacky?_ That little internal voice drifted across his mind as a mild state of unease bubbled to the surface. The voice sounded as anxious as he felt, but he’d come to recognize that as internal paranoia giving itself a voice.

"... Most certainly without any doubt whatsoever, that this is totally safe?" Jacky tried to push that inner voice aside for a second to think properly. "I don't want to be sick."

"Ultimately, it's up to you, Mr. QuackerJack. The antihistamine is a voluntary option, you're not required to take it if you don't want to. It may offer temporary relief for your nasal ailments, at the very least."

The inner voice continued to spout off negative concerns with no real weight to the claims, seemingly fueled by unfounded panic.

_Don't do it, don't do it, you don't know for sure what it'll do to you!_

Jacky dumped the single pill in the cup in his mouth and downed it with a juice box he'd been given earlier in the first exam. The inner voice shouted back more frantic observations, and he merely told it to please calm down before it caused him to have another anxiety attack. It shouted back that it refused to be silent, but Jacky honestly lost interest partway through the rant. That little voice was being irrational from fear of the unknown, but acknowledging that would just feed into that paranoia.

"... I don't think it's working, my face is still a little itchy."

"You just took the pill, it hasn't had time to even work."

_That, or they gave you a placebo._

That made an uncomfortable twinge spread through his spine. Placebos. Placebos were part of this whole mess. Who was behind that, who did that to him, why did they do that..?

It wasn't really important now, to be honest. What could he possibly be able to do to change that now, it's done and over with.

The weird sensation continued to linger in his spine, and he must have given off the impression of feeling uncomfortable, as Claire had carefully placed a stabilizing hand on his back. His feathers bristled involuntarily at the gentle touch, and he leaned sideways into her to accept the gesture.

"... Just a little tired…" He mumbled when she asked if he was alright. "... Of course, that's nothing new…"

"Do you want to lie down for a bit when we're done here?"

"No, I'm fine, I'll be fine." He waved a hand half-heartedly between them, quite obviously a reflexive action.

"You sure? I don't mind."

"... I'll manage."

"You'll do more than just that; if you need to take a little you-time, then by all means, take a little you-time."

There was something about that tone of voice that made Jacky feel like he really had no say otherwise. Not so much dominating, as it was more like the you-need-to-take-care-of-yourself tone that didn't leave much room for debate.

He blinked and looked at her with the sort of expression that said just that.

"... Well, that much sounds like I'll have to take that suggestion, don't it?" He said with a weak laugh to his voice. "At the very least, I'd like to spend some time in the courtyard today, it's nice outside, and the leaves are so colorful right now."

Jacky had gotten to be quite fond of a particular bench under a nice tree with a thick canopy of leaves, and it seemed to be his favorite place to go on a day that had nice weather. It made sense; it was in a quiet, contained area, shaded, and well tended to, like a private little park. It seemed to help him forget for a little while that he was still residing at the hospital.

The downside was that the access entry way to the courtyard was about three floors down and on the adjacent wing of the hospital grounds, so, even with the elevator, it was at least a ten minute walk. That's not much an issue for an able bodied individual, but Jacky didn't always feel up to a twenty minute round-trip walk, with or without stairs. Rather, he very much enjoyed the idea, it was just that he had occasionally had "bad days" that put a damper on the idea. He did not like the "bad days", as it usually consisted of him feeling overall just crummy and lacking the desire to do much other than hide in his room to keep his nerves in check.

Hopefully, today was not a "bad day". The last time he'd attempted the venture, he'd been stricken with a sudden bout of full-body weariness that left him feeling drained. The queasy little ache in his stomach that had resulted from the disorienting sensation just seemed to be an insult to injury, as he had to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed until it went away. It all just frustrated him so much to the point of wanting to pluck feathers out of his tired head.

"You feeling up for the walk today, Jacky?"

"I think so. It'd be nice to spend some time outside, the sun's out."

"Well, don't forget that the temperature is dropping these days. I'll try to bring a sweater for you next time I'm here, it'd be terrible if you got sick from the weather. Do you remember what size you wear?"

There was a long pause, as Jacky seemed to be thinking genuinely hard about the answer before he shrugged.

"... I don't know, I can't remember the last time I went clothes shopping."

Of course. She should have known. She was going to have to make an educated guess.

Within fifteen minutes, they would find themselves out in the courtyard on this otherwise lovely early autumn afternoon. He was looking upwards at the gold and crimson leaves in the overhanging canopy above the bench, eyes darting back and forth as if trying to either count them, or find the best looking leaf in the bunch.

Claire couldn't tell what he was thinking about while looking at the leaves, honestly. She did, however, notice that his posture wasn't as relaxed as it usually was whenever they made it to the bench outside. His fingers drummed the wood anxiously as he kicked his feet idly, and his back had yet to ease away from the stiff, upright position he'd held it in once they had sat down. He was very tense in his frame, and he seemed to be whispering something to himself under his breath that sounded like he was debating something internally.

"Jacky?"

He blinked and turned his attention to Claire, and she found herself relieved that he stared at her with a clear gaze.

"... Yeah?"

"You're a little on edge, is everything alright?"

He blinked again and dropped his eyes to the wood seat of the bench, and realized that his fingers had stopped drumming and was currently gripping the seat edge with a very tight squeeze, bending themselves backwards against the joints from the force. He let go and chuckled nervously as he wiggled them to get some of the tension out.

"... Sorry, I was just, um…" He wrung his hands and his smile faltered as he took a deep breath and launched into a hyperactive toned explanation as to what was on his mind. "Yuh-Y'know, I don't really _want_ to see those tapes, but I should. I have to, but I don't want to. But, I don't know what to do about it, because I don't want to watch them by myself, but I don't really want you to see anything bad if there's more footage like that one that really freaked me out, but, but, but then if it does freak me out again, then you won't know what it was that did that and then-"

"Jacky, I'm sorry to interrupt you for a moment, but _breathe._ "

He hadn't seemed to realize that he wasn't pausing in his rapid stream of words, and the squawky, breathless tone he had gained in the last stretch had honestly concerned Claire more than what he was worried about her seeing on the tapes.

A sharp intake of air, and a desperate attempt to control his breathing ensued, and the resulting loss of composure followed. He failed miserably at hiding his face, and worse so at controlling the tremor settling in his frame.

"... I hate this, I hate this so much, I can't do anything without losing my nerve, I'm an absolute mess…" He grumbled under his breath, winding his fingers into the fabric of his shirt anxiously. "... Have to be told how to breathe, can't do anything right…"

Claire gently pulled him towards her and pried his hand from his shirt.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Jacky."

"I can't help it, I'm right, I can't-!"

He was close enough to her now that Claire quickly wrapped her arms around his chest and pulled him across the distance between the two of them on the bench, to where he was now leaning on her.

He squirmed with an uncomfortable groan.

"Claire, please, I am not in the mood to be silly or whatever is happening here…"

"Just take a breath and enjoy the leaves right now, they're not going to be this way for long, you just need a moment to just breathe."

"I've _been_ breathing."

"No, I mean let's make this moment a good memory, let's just enjoy sitting outside like this, autumn days aren't always this nice." She said. "I know you've got a lot on your mind right now."

"... The leaves _are_ nice." He said quietly, nodding. "... I don't want to watch the tapes, but if I don't, I won't know what's on the rest of them…"

"... It's really up to you, Jacky. I can't tell you if you should or shouldn't."

"I know, but I hate making hard choices. And the last time I watched them, I lost my mind again…"

"Well, I mean, I think anyone would if they saw videos of themselves doing things they didn't remember at all."

"... You know what, that's actually a very good point. Still was freaking me out, though." He nodded before rubbing his head with the heel of his hand. "... Claire, be honest, how did you feel when you saw that one tape where I'd… you know, the one that really messed with me..? The really clear one where I went full crazy on the Crimebot? Didn't that bother you to see me do that..?"

"I was actually more concerned about you having a crisis, than what exactly was on the tape."

"... Oh." Jacky said quietly, dropping his head a little. "... I don't really remember what happened between seeing that and realizing that I was trying to get rid of the rest of the tapes in the bathroom. Aside from screaming, of course. So much screaming."

"There wasn't really much to acknowledge outside of what you obviously know."

"... I don't like that tape. I don't like either of them, but that one in particular, I don't like."

"As I said; I won't make you watch them, you have to decide what you want to do yourself."

Jacky shifted uncomfortably as it was clear that the thought of having to decide such a thing was causing anxiety to settle in his gut again like soured milk. He grimaced and gave a feeble noise to indicate that he absolutely hated having to deal with the thought of witnessing whatever else kind of horror lay within the confines of the video tapes.

"... I don't want to, but I have to." He reiterated, sighing. "I really don't want to, but if I don't, I won't really know what all the fuss is about with making me see it."

"What if we ease into it? Maybe not watch them all at once and give yourself some time to decompress so you don't feel so overwhelmed?"

There was a pause again, and some more thought on his part before he said quietly: "... That could work, I guess."

* * *

However, that plan had to be postponed as Jacky had developed a stomachache the following day (likely from anxiety), and he didn't feel much like doing anything other than try to sleep it off. It was also a weekday, so that meant that Claire would not be able to visit him until the evening, as she still had to be at work during the day.

Weekdays did not hinder Darkwing Duck, however.

"... Don't you have a day job or something? I'm not in the mood to do anything." Jacky grunted, pulling the blanket over his head. "... Come back later…"

"I'm just dropping off another tape."

"Another-? I haven't even watched the rest of the others yet!" Jacky snapped, sitting up quickly and immediately regretted it as he felt a chill run through him from the sudden change in orientation. He grit his teeth and said in a forced calm tone: "... Is it really necessary to watch all of them..?"

"Look, we are running short on time, before you know it, it's going to be time to review your case, and something is going to have to be done about that."

"And just what am I supposed to do about that? I still don't remember anything about any of that, and if you think watching these tapes is going to change that, then let me remind you that it sure didn't work well the last time we tried that!"

"But at the very least, you need to be aware of what may be talked about."

"It doesn't do me a bit of good if I can't remember any of it!" Jacky shouted a bit more angrily than he'd intended, but to be fair, he was getting frustrated with Darkwing's persistence. "Do you understand that watching them doesn't help much if I can't remember what I was thinking at the time or what was said? I know I have to watch them, but they might as well be subtitled in the language of another planet, because I can't explain anything about it. I'm going to watch them, but that's it, I can't tell you anything about what was happening then!"

"Have you-?"

"I swear, Darkwing, if you so much as suggest that I'm not trying hard enough, I will hit this call button and have you dragged out of this room while I watch." Jacky said, hovering his hand over the controls. "I am not in the mood for banter right now, either do what you planned on doing here or get out. I am not feeling it today."

"... Okay, fair enough." Darkwing mumbled before taking a breath and audibly exhaling. "So, how are you holding up?"

"Are you trying to just make conversation or are you asking because you actually care about the answer?"

"Look, Claire asked me to help you, and I am trying, okay?"

"Well, I'll just be sure to tell her that, then. Just go away for now, I'm tired." Jacky waved a hand at him in a weary shooing gesture.

"Well, then, just be sure to watch that tape as well. There's no specific placement for it, but I suppose you could save it for last, or get it over with as soon as you want, whatever you feel like."

"... Oh, geeze, what exactly is on that tape?" Why do you have to say it like that?"

"You're going to have to watch it for yourself."

"Again with the-! Darkwing, do you enjoy tormenting me in this way?" Jacky said in exasperation. "Why must you insist on dragging this out? Why can't you just tell me what happened? What could it possibly be that you can't just say it?"

"I did tell you. And you attacked me."

There was a pause from Jacky, a lightly heaved sigh, and a rubbing of fingers along his temples.

"... Darkwing, please, _please_ understand that I do not-! _Cannot!_ I cannot believe such a ridiculous idea!"

"Your former boss is me from another universe, you've been digitally transferred to a video game, and you've time traveled. _That_ is the one unbelievable thing that you can't wrap your head around?"

"At least I've seen the other things happen! I didn't see any of that, I don't remember anything about that night, and there is no way that Mr-!" There was an abrupt halt in his speech, as if Jacky had hit a verbal brick wall.

Darkwing watched him blink in absolute confusion as his eyes widened and moved to stare at his pillow, where it was known that he kept the doll under. It was clear that he still did not remember anything about that night, but the thought that crossed his mind was probably in the right direction.

"... He hasn't said a word since I've been here…" Jacky said quietly, continuing to blink, perhaps more than he should be. He gave his head a small shake and pressed a hand to it while looking at Darkwing helplessly. "... I can't get him to talk, I don't know why, he just won't say anything, I can’t talk to him…"

The subject of Mr. Banana Brain's sentience was such a volatile thing. One couldn't be completely sure if Jacky would be rational about it, or if he did genuinely believe at that precise moment that the doll was indeed alive. The fact that he was still recovering from a very nasty concussion made this a sensitive type of discussion, and one to be handled with absolute care, especially if he was already upset. He just didn't function well under pressure, and he was clearly beginning to be increasingly distressed.

"... Well, you've been having some issues with your creative output because of the knock to your head, that's probably just one of the… Um… okay, maybe that didn't sound like what I was trying to get at…" Darkwing had started to say before he was very much aware about the apprehensive look Jacky now had. "What I meant was-"

"What if I never make something ever again! I spent my entire adult life perfecting my craft! If I can't create things, what am I going to do, Darkwing! I can't be a toy maker if I can't make toys work!" Jacky was on the verge of tears now, face flushed a reddish color and his voice a hoarse tone. He inhaled sharply and collapsed on the bed in a shuddering heap. "I'm trying, I really am trying! But I just can't make him talk!"

"And no one said that you weren't trying." Darkwing said over the tearful gasping that was escaping Jacky. There was a pause as he tried to think of a way to calm down the terribly distraught Duck before they had another "situation" at hand. He felt this was an outrageous to something he thought was trivial, but Darkwing made sure to not forget that Jacky was not a very rational individual to begin with, even before the head injury.

Darkwing watched him roll over and bury his head in the blankets miserably. He hovered a hand over the toymaker's back before awkwardly patting it in a weak attempt to offer comfort.

"... What in the world are you doing..?" Jacky mumbled wearily, not lifting his head.

"... I'm trying to be supportive."

"... You're not very good at it."

"Well, gee, thanks for that."

"You're too stiff, you can't be tense when you do that, it shows that you don't know what you're doing, and that doesn't help if whoever you're doing it for can tell that you don't have control of the situation. It doesn't feel stable." Jacky said in a quiet voice, peering over the mound of blanket piled in front of his face.

"... Since when are you an expert at comfort?"

"I'm not. I just know what helps me feel better. Claire does it way better than you."

"I take it you're feeling better, then?"

"Not really, nope. The looming existential terrors and anxiety of my predicament still plagues the corners of my mind like a ghost of a febrile nightmare." The stunned silence that followed that statement was met with a snort by him as he clarified in an oddly calm voice and an empty sort of grin: "My nerves are shot to heck and I don't think I've been properly relaxed for a solid two weeks now. I'm an absolute emotional wreck. I've probably cried at least four times this week already. I am really not handling this very well and I don't know why I'm telling you this, to be quite honest, but I suppose excess chatter is a clear sign of stress and boy, am I stressed."

"... You do look a little peaked, now that you mention it."

"Is it that obvious..?"

"Well, a little preening probably couldn't hurt."

"... I have been feeling a little under the weather all morning, if that helps explain it." Jacky said in a quiet voice, grimacing to himself. "... I'm probably just worrying myself sick."

"Have you told anyone about that?"

"What? Why?"

"You're in a _healing_ environment." Darkwing said as if that was an obvious answer.

"I'm here for a brain injury, not to bog down the system with every single inconvenience I have."

"If you're worrying yourself to the point of physical distress, then this is most certainly related to your brain, and all the more reason to tell someone."

"Excuse me, are _you_ my therapist? Where do you get off telling me what I need to do around here, you can't even tell me what's on those tapes, do you really think that I'm going to listen to your health tips?" Jacky snapped back, starting to get irritable again. He was sitting up once again, and stared at Darkwing with a glare set in his features.

"Telling you what's on the tapes is a risk for compromising your retained memory. Suggesting that you speak up over an internal crisis is me expressing concern for your well-being."

"And why do you care so much about that now, of all times? All those years, and you just played along like everyone else. What _happened?_ " Jacky scoffed.

Darkwing didn't immediately respond to that, and Jacky wasn't sure if it was more frustrating than it was unsettling or the other way around. He was starting to feel ill at the idea of all possible reasons, each rapid thought and consideration getting more and more distressing as his anxiety bubbled to the surface again.

Darkwing seemed to have noticed that, as he flashed a somewhat alarmed expression before saying: "Jacky, I am serious right now, are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"... Darkwing, be honest…" There was a mumble from Jacky as he shook his head and pressed a hand to the side of it. "... On the rest of the tapes, do I… Did I hurt anyone..?"

"Honestly? Yes." Darkwing said rather bluntly.

There was a rather long silence from Jacky before he spoke in a quieter tone, sounding as though his throat had constricted painfully.

"... Was it Claire..?"

"No."

It was odd to see such a mix of relief and apprehension on his face, but it was there as a dawning look of horror slowly overtook it again.

"... Is it someone I know..?"

"You know I can't tell you anything that would-"

"Just tell me 'yes' or 'no'!" Jacky shouted, perhaps louder than expected, as Darkwing actually flinched.

"I don't think I should tell you anything until we're absolutely sure you're in a state that can handle the answer." He said truthfully, realizing he was in a tough spot right now. "You said so yourself that you weren't feeling well today."

"That does nothing to calm me down!" Jacky continued to speak in a raised tone of voice, sounding as agitated as he'd been for the entirety of the visit.

"I swear, I really think you need to take a breath or something, you look like you're going to lose it right now, and I am not getting punched in the face again." Despite the tense energy in the room between them, Darkwing still managed to keep his voice level in all the chaos, which the same could not be said about the other one in the conversation.

" _I've been trying to calm down, what in the heck do you think I've been trying to do! I can't just calm down!_ " Jacky howled in misery, catching some of his head feathers in panicked handfuls. "Who did I hurt, Darkwing? It's someone I know, isn't it!"

"QuackerJack, you need to stop before you do something that you're going to regret later."

"Oh, like anything could _possibly_ be worse than the unknown right now!" It honestly infuriated Jacky that Darkwing still kept his voice at such a baseline tone, as if all this shouting wasn't getting even the slightest reaction. Jacky wanted to rage and scream at him, and Darkwing wasn't doing him the decency of partaking in that activity with him. "Darkwing, I don't know the answer to that! I don't remember anything about what I did! You can't just say something like that and expect me to let it go!"

"Look, I'm just here to drop off that tape, I don't have to stick around here if you're wanting to pick a fight with me." Darkwing said, not appearing to be fazed by the confrontational attitude. "If you can at least try to settle down, I'd be more than happy to answer what I can, but I am not going to be responsible for another mishap in this building because we are both on thin ice as far as any one-on-one time goes."

Jacky stared at him while taking several deep, controlled breaths, winding his fingers into the fabric of the blanket he was sitting on. His feathers bristled along his shoulders as he continued to breathe in and out through his teeth. His body was starting to shake.

Darkwing had expected him to explode in anger and continue to shout and rant, but instead, he was caught somewhat off guard when Jacky inhaled sharply and burst into tears. Not just crying, but the sort of loud wailing that one might mistake for the cries of a dying animal. He fell over sideways and let go of the blanket to bury his face in his hands again, curling up in a shuddering ball of ruffled feathers. He continued to sob and Darkwing decided that this was perhaps the fourth most depressing noise he could recall applying that description to.

"... Alright, come on, I might have been a bit harsh a moment ago, but I'm just trying to follow the rules here. You don't have to-"

The wailing got louder and seemingly more miserable. Darkwing wasn't quite sure if that was his fault or not.

"Okay." He said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "I'll just wait it out, then."

Jacky finally petered out after about a solid ten minutes (which was honestly a bit impressive as to how long he kept that momentum), and he simply laid on his side, arms folded as he stared at the foot of the bed. Darkwing waited before stepping into view and reaching out with the videotape in his hand.

Jacky's tired expression soured further at the sight of the tape.

"... Don't I have enough to watch already?"

"Maybe so, but this one isn't so much an anthology of surveillance videos as it's more a selection of videos I think you might find interesting."

"... What's on it?"

"A selection of videos I think you might find interesting."

"... I don't know why I expected a straight answer." Jacky gave a disgruntled mumble. He sat up and rubbed at one of his eyes with the palm of his hand. "Is this one of those things I should watch with someone, or..?"

"Whatever you want to do."

"Now, I hate making decisions, Darkwing, my brain is tired, have a little sympathy for an ailing mind, why don't you?"

"Sooner or later, you're going to have to make a decision."

"Fine. You're going to watch it with me."

"Oh, really?" Darkwing stifled a small laugh.

"Yeah. I want you to see the exact turmoil you are putting me in by piling another tape in that box. You are going to watch me watch the tape."

"Okay. Fair enough." Darkwing agreed reasonably, knowing it's the least he could do. "Just set the time, and-"

"Oh, you're not leaving." Jacky said in a nearly uncharacteristically calm voice. "You're going to be here when Claire comes back."

"... But, it's a school day."

"And?"

"And it's afternoon."

"I don't see why any of that's relevant."

"... Of course you don't. I'll be right back, I have to make a non-relevant phone call."

* * *

"Jacky, are you absolutely sure you want to do this right now?"

Claire was being cautious, as she had not forgotten the time Jacky tried to marathon the tapes, or rather, the only time thus far that he'd made an attempt to do so. And, judging from his check-up results for the day (particularly his stress levels and state of agitation, as well as complaints of feeling under the weather earlier in the day), she was not totally confident that he'd be able to emotionally handle an entire tape of assorted events he was adamant that he could not remember.

"I have to watch these eventually, Claire." Jacky said, however, he did not sound as confident as he was trying to come off as. "It really doesn't matter if I want to or not, it has to be done…"

Claire looked at Darkwing with a look of mild exasperation and gestured for him to step into hearing range of a softer speaking voice.

"... What exactly is on this particular tape?" She said, trying to keep the air free of any vocal tones that could upset Jacky further (as she was well aware that he was agitated earlier in the day). "I know you're trying to help, but you _need_ to run this sort of thing by me for another opinion before you just dump this on him."

"I'll be honest, it's a selection of harder to find surveillance videos with some restored audio, and I think it might help him at least better understand what happened."

"You can't just force him to remember what happened, we've been over this."

“I’m not trying to force anything.” Darkwing said. “But he should at least see these.”

"That is not your decision to make."

"You can't keep shielding him."

She would have responded to that if not for Jacky's voice cutting into the conversation.

“I can hear both of you, by the way. And I said I was going to watch them.” He stared at them, glancing back and forth at either one. "I _want_ to do this. We agreed on it.”

They were right. She knew they were right, but she hadn’t forgotten his reaction to that one specific tape from the last real attempt to watch any, and the fact that Darkwing had added a newly, unannounced tape to the box without any real indication of its contents was a concern to her. She had no idea how to prepare or what to expect, much like with the other tapes, but Darkwing’s vague description did not help in the slightest. What he deemed as a perfectly acceptable selection of video feed was likely him overestimating Jacky’s ability to handle seeing it. Darkwing didn’t seem to fully understand that Jacky was not as resilient as before, and Jacky also seemed to share that mindset.

And this was all making it very hard for her to keep the peace between them.

“I know we agreed on it, but Jacky, are you sure you don’t want to wait until you’re not as on edge?” She said gently, knowing that regardless, it would be difficult to sway his decision.

Of course, Jacky was set in his choice, and nothing would change that.

_Oh, you stubborn Duck, you._

She wasn’t sure what to expect with the contents of that particular tape. Claire had tried her best to track Jacky’s activities during that chunk of time that he had no memory of at all, but, of course, he wasn’t easy to find on the rare chance that she’d found something more substantial than a newspaper clipping or a footnote in the evening news. If these were in fact surveillance video sightings, she had to wonder what he’d had to have been up to at the time the footage were taken.

“Now, thanks to the modern wonders of easy access to security equipment in wholesale and for civilian daily use, I was able to locate some footage that just wasn’t considered newsworthy, or at least wasn’t relevant enough to the coverage to be reported on.” Darkwing said, as if explaining any of that was going to lessen the potential blow this could have. “Unfortunately, thanks to Jacky’s insistence that we’ll be doing this right now instead of a more reasonable date, and I am locked into this obligation, I do not have the proper viewing equipment available on hand, which means we’ll be using the wall mounted television in the corner that is not as comfortably near a comfortable seating area, because _some_ one is impatient and insists that I have to be here for this at this exact moment.”

“Oh, give it a rest, will ya, Darkwing, you think I’m enjoying this at all? Because I’m not.” Jacky shot back, having sensed the underlying sarcasm quite easily. “Just get this over with so I can have the rest of the day in peace.”

It took a few minutes to set up the tape player, mostly because Darkwing had to stand on a chair to reach the machine in the wall mount, and Claire wasn’t going to let Jacky try despite his insistence that he could (not when his center of gravity was questionable, and she wasn’t going to risk him slipping off the chair). Darkwing’s video compilation skills left something to be desired. Not that either one of them could do any better, but surely he could have done something about the jarring static overlay and transitions.

The first video feed to queue up appeared to be from a camera that was positioned in the back alley of a building in one of the main districts in St. Canard, if the dumpster and trash bins among slightly moist cardboard boxes lining a wall perpendicular to the camera view was any indication.

Claire looked at Jacky carefully, wondering to herself if anything on the screen was going to trigger a reaction in him at any given moment. Thankfully, she was somewhat relieved to see that his face bore no recognition at the setting of the footage. So far, so good; this meant that Jacky wasn't in immediate distress.

If anything, he looked confused.

“... What is that, what is this? That’s an alley, but why are you showing me this?” He looked at Darkwing before turning his attention back to the screen. “... What’s a camera doing there anyway..?”

Clearly, Jacky wasn’t much aware that it was commonplace nowadays that businesses tend to have surveillance at back access doors. Darkwing debated internally if it was wise to tell him that that particular feed ironically belonged to a video game retail shop, and decided that it wasn’t really relevant.

There was a sharp inhale from Jacky when slightly grainy video on the screen finally showed movement, and it was clear that he definitely recognized the figure on the screen as himself. If not for the serious nature of this event, it might have been comical to note that he was wearing that inexplicably inconspicuous trenchcoat and wide brim hat over his iconic jester costume, seemingly unnoticed by passersby as he stepped into the alley, holding something in his closed hand that he seemed to be so hyperfocused on not dropping, at least until he made the motion to let it go before it seemed to spontaneously sprout into a particular plant mutant, and it was at that moment Claire recognized the odd looking being as someone she had seen with Jacky that time she had stumbled upon a scene unfolding during her search for her missing boyfriend.

It then occurred to her that this could very well be an angled overhead video feed of that exact event, and she had no idea that they had even been filmed.

"Bushroot!" Jacky shouted, not so much sounding surprised as it was more like he had reacted to seeing a familiar face in the video. He sputtered and gawked, looking dumbfounded. "What-! What did-! What is-! Where did you find this! What is this! What is happening here!"

The body language between the two on the tape was clear: Bushroot was not pleased with QuackerJack, and QuackerJack was far too jovial than was really appropriate for the situation. The chatter they exchanged was difficult to understand due to the murmur of civilian life outside the alleyway drowned out most of it except for when QuackerJack raised his voice, and to be honest, his spoken word was far louder than Bushroot’s soft speaking tone, so that was understandable on its own.

However, it was a little startling when Bushroot’s voice sounded off suddenly, quite flustered: “... You _mulched_ me! Of all the ways to do it, you had to pick the most unnecessarily violent-!”

“It got you out, didn’t it?” Was the response, sounding as though the idea of reducing one to shreds wasn’t bothersome to him at all.

Jacky continued to watch the screen with an unreadable expression as the exchange of words resumed. He audibly grimaced when on the video feed, his playfully unhinged demeanor had changed and he leapt at Bushroot in a rage as a defensive tangle of vines sprung up to stop his hands just inches from the plant Duck’s neck, screaming in fury as he hurled threats at him, like how he was going to rip the petals off Bushroot’s head for saying “that name”, as he tried again and again to strangle him.

The tape footage was suddenly fast-forwarded, which seemed to jar Jacky out of his trance as he looked at Claire, then at Darkwing, who was holding the remote and looking a bit sheepish about the content matter.

“... Um, this goes on like that for the next ten minutes, it’s honestly a bit impressive how you kept the momentum during the outburst, but-”

“I DIDN’T DO THAT!” Jacky shouted over him suddenly, pointing at the screen in a panicked manner. “I DON’T REMEMBER, SO I CAN’T HAVE DONE IT! THAT’S HOW IT WORKS, RIGHT?”

“... Jacky.” Claire said gently, realizing he was definitely having an emotional reaction to the tape footage. She moved closer to him and carefully put a hand on his cheek, trying to get him to look in her direction. "Jacky, do you want us to pause the tape?"

"I didn't-! That's not-! I would never-!" Jacky continued to stammer, seeming as if he hadn't heard the question at all. "Claire, please, you know I wouldn't-! I-! No!" He shoved her hand away, stomped his foot on the last word, and continued to do so as he balled his fists and repeated the word in an increasingly distressed tone. "No, no, no, no, _no!_ "

"... Pause the tape, he's having a meltdown." Claire said swiftly, hurrying to the large window to pull the shades closed. "We can't really talk to him right now, he can hear us, but he's not _hearing_ us, we can try, but keep it simple. He has to come out of it on his own, pause the tape, it’ll help if we can reduce the sensory feedback for him, you read the packet, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Pause the tape, this is just like that episode he had at the house.” She said again, rummaging around for Jacky’s plush pal to give him a comfort item, and was somewhat surprised to see that he wasn’t stored under the pillow as he usually was. “... Jacky, sweetie, do you remember where you put Mr. Banana Brain?”

He was still standing in the same spot, very tense, hands at his sides, fingers twitching tirelessly, audibly huffing through his teeth. He didn't immediately respond, so she tried again, keeping her gentle tone of voice. He blinked slowly a few times, and eased his breathing, still staring ahead with a vacant look to his eyes.

"... Turn the tape back on…" He mumbled, shaking his head, reaching his hands up to his head feathers and burying his fingers in them. "... Turn it back on… we're not done watching…"

"Jacky, no. You're done with that for now, you need to-"

"No! We're not done! We are not done!" Jacky screamed suddenly, gripping his fingers tightly around the feathers on his head and yanking roughly, absolutely hysterical now. "We're not done! Put the tape back on! We're not done! I have to watch it, I have to know!"

"And you're going to, Jacky. But, you are not in a good state of mind right now, and you need to let yourself rest." Claire instinctively reached for his hands and tried to pry his fingers off his feathers, as he had managed to pull a few of them from his head already. She paused suddenly, then carefully pulled back some of the feathers around his face, as if looking at something under them. "... Jacky, you're very pale, are you alright?"

Of course, such an observation was often difficult due to the fact that many Ducks had white feathers to begin with, but it was clear that she'd seen that the skin under his feathers had lost a noticeable amount of color. Jacky was still staring distantly, and Claire wondered if he had even heard her at all.

"Jacky, do you want to sit down?" She said, sounding even more concerned than she had just a minute ago. He shuddered, and still didn't respond to her. "Jacky? Jacky, talk to me. Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

At that exact moment, his eyes went wide and he pulled his hands from hers to shakily point at the now paused screen of the mounted television with a strangled whimper.

"Jacky, it's alright, we stopped the tape. You don't have to watch any more of it toda-"

"Claire, I remember that one."

It took her a moment to really register what Jacky had said. She had continued speaking before she stopped in mid sentence and blinked before looking at him

"... J-Jacky?"

"I-I… I don't remember anything else during that, but that one, that one I remember…" He said quietly, still pointing at the screen, jaw clenched as he tried to keep his composure. "... You were there…"

Claire exchanged a look with Darkwing, who was standing several feet away awkwardly, holding the VCR remote in both hands. Then Claire looked at the television screen and instantly recognized that this was indeed a tape of the exact event she had suspected all along. The screen was paused, and the single frame it was of had shown an angled overhead view of Jacky in the process of reaching for a fire escape ladder as Claire reached for him.

"... I don't remember anything else, but… I think I remember this… you were there, and I was scared… I remember just this, and not anything around it, before or after. I remember just this. I remember the ladder and the dumpster, but nothing else." He said, looking at the screen as if it was going to disappear the moment he took his eyes off of it. “... Ladder falling, loud noise, why am I so sad…”

"Jacky, do you want to sit down?” Claire was more concerned at the moment about how unsteady he seemed on his feet than to have really let it sink in entirely that he did indeed remember something. She was going to get him to settle down before she really completely responded to the revelation. She grabbed the hand that was not pointing at the screen and tugged it gently to get his attention. “Come on, there’s a chair right over here, let’s get you more comfortable.”

“... I don’t remember anything else, just that…” He mumbled helplessly, looking not at all pleased with this development whatsoever. He followed her to the chair with shuffling feet and shook his head. “... It doesn’t do anything for me, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s useless, I don’t know what it means…”

“But, Jacky, you remembered _something._ For the first time in half a year, you remembered something that you didn’t before.”

“I don’t _want_ to remember anything about that, I just wanted to know what happened!” Jacky said loudly, yanking his hand free and burying his face as he sat down. “I don’t want this, I don’t want to remember what terrible things I did, I just wanted to know what happened!”

“QuackerJack-” Darkwing started to say, deciding to finally break his stunned silence, but he was swiftly cut off.

“No! You do not speak to me right now!” Jacky snapped at him, his voice managing to reverberate quite effectively in the room, really nailing in how livid he was at the Masked Mallard. “This is your fault! This is all your fault! You harass me constantly, you refuse to answer simple questions, nearly every one of your visits has resulted in my misery, you constantly push these tapes on me, do you get a kick out of watching me suffer! Why are you even here? Why do you insist on being here so much? You can build my case without me, I don’t care, I do not care what you do now, I am sick of not having a moments’ peace with you around, I didn’t even want to do this today, and you kept badgering me on watching this specific tape! Are you happy now? You got what you wanted!”

Maybe it was the fact that the mounted television was so high up in the corner, but Darkwing’s subdued reaction and meek expression certainly made him look smaller than usual. Even his cape hung behind him in an unusually timid fashion, and he just stood there, holding the VCR remote.

“ _Well?_ ” Jacky did not seem satisfied with the silent response, and Claire seemed too stunned by his flared temper to properly reprimand him for being out of line, though, honestly, she had to agree that his frustration was certainly valid. After all, Darkwing had indeed been relentless these past few weeks, not to mention the prior incidents that seemed to always end with Jacky very upset. “Answer me! _Are you happy now?_ ”

“No.”

Maybe he didn’t expect such a calm answer at all, but Jacky’s rage instantly halved the moment Darkwing did not return the furious energy back at him.

“... What do you mean ‘No’?” He said, blinking and sounding more confused than anything else. He looked at Claire as if he expected her to explain it to him, as if he may have missed some context or had simply not paid any attention to what surely would have explained why Darkwing did not yell back at him this time. “You’re supposed to yell back at me, I just threw an entire rant at you, doesn’t that make you the slightest bit angry back?”

“No, you’re absolutely right: This is my fault.” Darkwing said calmly, holding up the remote and hitting a button, which made the video feed speed up, causing the visuals flash by too quickly to really register anything in the memory. Too fast to really know what was happening, almost at a nauseating pace, Jacky thought to himself. “It’s my fault you fell through a window. I should have talked you down sooner.”

Darkwing glanced up at the screen and hit the play button.

Jacky stared at the screen, still confused before it was suddenly clear to him that the footage was of a figure laying amongst broken glass on the pavement. It was nighttime, angled security footage, much like the other videoes, but there was a noticeable lack of noise compared to the rest. At least until Darkwing’s voice cut into the tape, announcing his usual rhetoric before he seemed to realize the figure on the ground was not responding to him, and put a hand on his shoulder to give it a careful shake.

“ _... Hey, QuackerJack… Can you hear me..?_ ”

“Shut it off!”

This was not spoken by Jacky.

Confused once more, Jacky tore his eyes from screen and was absolutely gobsmacked to see Claire actively trying to wrestle the remote from Darkwing’s hands, who seemed just as taken aback at this.

“He doesn’t need to see this! He’s not ready, you don’t know what you’re doing to him!” She was shouting, reaching for the remote, which Darkwing had a deathgrip on, mostly because he had no idea what else to do. "I am not losing him again! You have no right to show him this when he wasn't ready!"

Jacky wasn't quite sure if he could ever recall witnessing Claire losing her cool like that before, and it absolutely stunned him to the point that he legitimately did not know how to respond.

"Claire!" He managed once he found his voice. "Stop! It's not that bad, I'm fine, really! I'm just a little bit ang-!"

It happened rather quickly, and looking back, he might have considered the possibility that Claire simply didn't realize that she was acting irrationally, and of course, Jacky understood that particular concept. She did not realize what she was doing exactly until the dust cleared and it really sunk in.

He had reached for her, and she slapped him across the face.

Jacky did not make a noise. Quite honestly, he was left speechless. He didn't even cry out in shock. He just stared sidewise at her, holding a hand to his cheek, head turned slightly from the slap.

Claire managed to pull the remote from Darkwing’s hands, pop open the back, take out the batteries and lob them across the room so the remote was rendered useless for the time being. She looked up and froze when she realized something had happened.

Jacky was still staring mutely. He was never this silent unless something was wrong.

Her palm stung a bit, and it was very obvious to her what she'd done.

She'd hit him.

Jacky's reaction to this was honestly very strange. He didn't utter a single sound as he calmly turned around, picked up the two television remote batteries, walked to Darkwing to drop them in his hands, and then, still calmly, Jacky walked past Claire without so much as looking at her, opened the door to the room, stepped out and walked down the hall towards the stairwell.

Claire followed after him, as he walked down one flight of stairs, holding the rail for stability, and stepped across the yellow themed floor, and sat on the bench next to a directory.

"... Jacky…"

"... Ms. Mustela is on the yellow floor."

"Jacky, I really shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay to not be okay."

"Jacky, you know I didn't mean it."

"Her shift is almost over, we can wait right here."

"Jacky, please, I'm so sorry."

"I'm not mad, Claire, I'm upset. Not at you, but that this has been ignored for this long."

"... I don't think I get what you mean."

"Claire, answer me honestly: Have you had any outlet for any of this? You've been dealing with me being here for more than half the year, and I don't think I recall you once mentioning what you've been doing for yourself." Jacky was staring ahead, looking out the large window across from the bench, where you could see the reds and oranges of the autumn colors. "I know I have a bit of a bad memory as of late, but I really don't remember you doing something for yourself, it's always about me, and that's not healthy."

"... Well, I worry about you."

"I know. And I worry about you." Jacky heaved a sigh and finally looked at her. "I know I'm not the easiest to deal with sometimes, but I'm not totally helpless. It's okay to let me have a little conflict sometimes; I have to relearn how to handle things myself, you know?"

"But… No one else is-"

"I know. I don't really have much else besides you to defend me. You're really all I've got right now."

"... So, what do we do now?" Claire said, feeling guilty and defeated.

"Sit with me. We'll wait for Ms. Mustela together, and we'll get you a session set up. There's probably a lot you want to talk about without worrying about what I might think about. I trust Ms. Mustela."

Claire paused before nodding in agreement, taking a seat beside him on the bench, feet together, hands on her knees, back straight, also staring out the window across from them.

A hand found it's way around her shoulder and a careful tug caused her to lean into him as he put his arm around her.

"... I didn't mean to hit you."

"I know." Jacky said reassuringly before snorting a small laugh. "Honestly, with all the chaos happening, I was sure it was going to be Darkwing who was going to be the one who got hit. And I thought I was going to be the one who'd do it. I was this close, really, he's been getting on my nerves all day. You really surprised me."

"I really shouldn't have done that. That's not okay."

"It's okay to not be okay with things not being okay. But you can't pretend to be okay when you're not okay. I understand. It's been tough on all of us. I definitely don't make it easy." He put his head on hers. "... I'm sorry."

There was a bit of a silence between them before Claire finally said: "... The leaves are nice today."

"They are, aren't they?"

**Author's Note:**

> I should note that I based the basic "Jacky" personality on both the Nega-QuackerJack from the episode "Life, the Negaverse and Everything", as well as the implied concept via quip from Claire from "Toy With Me". 
> 
> Because Jacky doesn't remember the events of the comics before this, his personality base is set back, so to speak. Less angry, more confused.


End file.
